Donutverse 50 Kinky Ways
by nubianamy
Summary: Vignettes to fulfill the 50 Kinky Ways prompt set. Set in the Donutverse, Finn/Kurt/Puck, Carl/Finn, Adam/Kurt/Puck, Jacob/Timmy, Toby/Will, etc. Multiple partners, Dom/sub and discipline.
1. Overheard with the Winchester boys

_(Author's note: this is a piece co-written and inspired by Flynn Anthony's awesome Supernatural Wincest stories, which can be found on LJ at flinchflower dot livejournal dot com. She began her own 50 Kinky Ways prompts with a story about THE LIST, and I liked it so much that asked her to write one for me. Watch for a full Donutverse/SPN crossover story soon. _

_Anyway, if you're confused by the sudden appearance of the Winchester boys, have no fear; the rest of the stories in this series will be Glee, set in the Donutverse. They're in a nebulous not-too-distant future time frame unless otherwise noted. Standard warnings are for multiple partners, Dom/sub and discipline. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, but Finn does own Puck and Kurt. _

_Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>Overheard - <strong>by flinchflower and nubianamy

Dean splashed more water over his face, looking up in the mirror to be sure he'd gotten the last of the grease off his cheeks. Sam hovered behind him, stepping out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. The older man's eyes roamed over Sam's body, skimming over the tempting cut of the muscles to focus on the scars. His brain wouldn't let him forget the contrast between the man standing placidly on the bathmat, and the younger, unblemished boy that Sam had been at sixteen. _The same age as Hummel's pretty kid._

Sam's arm snaked around Dean's chest, pulling the two of them close enough that they both relaxed at the first heated sensation of the other's body. Then Sam gave a wry grin, lifted the soapy washcloth from Dean's hand to scrub firmly at the back of the older man's neck.

"That's got it," Sam offered, handing the cloth back to Dean.

"Thanks," came the gruff reply.

Sam frowned, and part of Dean flinched away from the possibility of Sam having a bitchfit, because he really wasn't up for handling that crap right now.

"You're worrying about something," Sam said quietly, unknowingly allowing Dean to relax at the lack of angst in his tone. "Is the Impala...?"

It wasn't a bitchfit, but it was worry, and the kind of worry that Dean understood, only too intimately. The Impala was home, the only real home the two of them had ever known. Standing in someone's house, in a clean bathroom that had amenities like towels that smelled of nothing worse than laundry soap, toilet paper that didn't leave you raw, and a mug of toothbrushes that screamed happy family, he understood Sam's worry.

"No, Sam," he said with the quiet confidence and understanding that would reassure the younger man. "We've checked everything, it's just the transmission. It sucks, it's gonna take time to rebuild it, but Dad and Bobby and I all knew it was coming. We were gonna dig into it on the next downtime, but she apparently didn't agree with us." He grinned wryly. "An' before you even think it, Hummel's a fuckin' genius under the hood, Bobby knew who he was as soon as I said Lima, Ohio." Dean was rewarded for his long speech by the relief of some of the tension in Sammy's face.

"Then what's buggin' you, bro?" came the soft inquiry.

Dean grunted. He dried his face and neck with a clean towel, absently directing a sniff toward his armpit to be sure he didn't need a shower as well. He gazed at Sammy, still meeting the younger hunter's gaze in the mirror, less intense than it would have been to turn and face his brother head on.

"Those kids," came Dean's gruff reply.

Sam sighed, enough of a reply to let Dean know that the same thing was preying on his older brother's mind.

"Me too," he offered quietly. "I was kinda surprised that it's a triad," he offered.

"No shit. Kinky," he said, eyes sparkling as he turned to meet Sam's gaze.

"Fuck yeah," Sam said. "Except I think that handling anything in addition to you would probably kill me off pretty quick."

Dean rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. You look like a redwinged Hell's Angel next to Hummel's kid."

Sam started, stared for a minute, then let out a laugh, relaxing. In Dean's own... special... way, that was a compliment - Dean's way of saying that Kurt was a flaming queen, but since Dean himself preferred dick to cunt, he wasn't gonna criticize. And a sort of apology, because if there was anything that irritated the older man, it was any of Sam's behavior that could possibly be tagged as girly.

Sam separated the stack of clean clothing, handing half to Dean, making a mental note that he'd have to ask Mrs. Hudson about laundry, if there was a washer and dryer they could use or where the nearest - and cleanest - laundromat was. He was a little startled when Dean set the clothing aside, and pulled him in for a kiss. The older man's hands were notably chaste, one wrapped warmly around the back of Sam's neck, the other resting lightly in the curve of Sam's back.

"What's that all about?" Sam asked softly, his own hand spreading across the identical place on Dean's spine.

"They're startin' to hint at questions, Sam. The Hudson kid, he knows about us."

"Seriously? He looks pretty clueless, usually."

"Nope. He's got it, and he's thinkin,' Sammy. We're gonna be fielding some questions, and probably sooner, rather than later."

Sam grunted. "Can't be a bad thing."

"Not unless..."

"What? Dude." There was that unspoken speech between the two of them again. Sam meant, how the fuck could it be a bad thing, letting a couple of gay kids know that what they were doing was perfectly normal so long as everyone wanted what was going down. He felt Dean smile against his lips.

"I'm gonna lay down a little law here, boy," Dean said, hands firming up on Sam's body, giving the younger man a stern look. Sam just quirked an eyebrow in reply.

"I think you're right," Dean said, then dipped a hand down to swat Sam's behind lightly and quietly. "BUT," came the caveat that the younger man had been expecting. "You answer questions, you use your head and not just your bleeding heart, Sammy - and..." he said, watching to see if Sam was paying attention, "for the love of God, don't mention the LIST to them."

Sam's head tipped back as the belly laugh escaped from him, and Dean supported the younger man, smile lines around his eyes crinkling as he watched Sam's mirth run it's course.

"Shit, no, Dean. They're still babies. No problem, dude."

Neither man was aware that there was a very quiet, very sneaky witness plastered against the wall of the hallway, consisting of one bold Noah Puckerman.

* * *

><p>Puck stilled his breathing, listening to the two smokin' men in the bathroom together. <em>A list,<em> he mused to himself. And furthermore, a list that neither of the older men wanted him or the other dudes to see. A smirk spread across his face, as information converted from idea to agenda. He was able to slip back down the hallway from the bathroom without being heard, something he'd done countless times in this household, and a couple of others to boot.

_A list,_ he thought again. His brain riffled through what he knew of the Winchesters after a week of hanging around the two of them, between helping Mr. Hummel and Dean with the _omfg HOT_ Impala that was stranded and de-transmissioned in the garage, and sitting with Sam - Sammy - as the older man patiently explained the mysteries of trigonometry to he and Finn, raising an eyebrow any time that Finn and Puck brushed against each other up underneath the kitchen table.

_Where would either of them keep a list?_ He attributed the list, whatever it was, to Sam, because Dean's voice had had that... recognizable scolding... in it that Finn used on him from time to time. He knew, academically, that both men had journals that they kept close to their persons. And furthermore, he'd never seen either man look at the other's journal, unless one handed it to the other.

_Where the hell else would they keep something like that?_ His brain roved over other things. Wallets - no, he'd already lifted Sam's, and returned it before the guy had realized. He'd chuckled over the fake ID's, and had plotted out a couple more pointed questions to ask before the two skipped town. The Impala's glove box seemed to be a likely target, but as he contemplated that, he realized that he'd seen Burt open the thing at Dean's bidding to pull out the ancient owner's manual. There'd been a cigar box in there, but Kurt had been nosy enough to investigate that - which had earned the diva a couple of swats from Finn when he'd found out, and Kurt would have mentioned a list for sure.

Puck laid back on Kurt's bed, hands linked behind his head, rubbing at his mohawk absently. He'd already peeked into their duffels, once Burt had installed the pair in the guest room. Nothing there. And then it occurred to him. There'd been a leather bag in the backseat that Dean had hauled out, and popped into the trunk. He'd damn well overheard Dean tell Burt that they'd added some modifications to the trunk, requesting that Mr. Hummel ask if there was any access needed to that part of the Impala. Dean hadn't given any appearance of the bag being something that needed to be hidden, but...

A new plan coalesced for Puck. The keys to the Impala hung on the garage rack, and Puck's excellent memory provided him with the information that it wasn't just the engine key, but the door key AND the trunk key on the ring. Kurt's dad was the honest, old boy type of guy who wouldn't question what Dean had asked of him, and Puck thought Dean was the sort of guy who believed in not only gestures of faith, but covering his ass by not making a fuss. So that door key would almost certainly open the trunk of the sexy black vehicle.

Puck felt his tense muscles ease, a clear indication that he'd found the perfect plan. A quick inventory indicated that Burt was snoring softly in his room, which was free of Mrs. Hudson tonight, and that Finn was attending to Kurt downstairs, probably doling out a slow spanking, which would be followed up by intense cuddling. All of which left Puck in the clear to ease the door to the garage open, snag the Impala's keyring off the rack, and slowly open her trunk.

He'd listened in on a few conversations the older men had been involved in, and wasn't surprised to see the weapons racks, the bundles that looked like camping gear. No, he had only one focus. And that was the plump leather bag that Dean had so casually tossed into the Impala's haven.

Luck was with him, for once, he thought smugly. He reached for the bag, quietly unzipping the side pockets in turn. Lube, condoms, no big surprises. There was a tiny little change pocket on the front of the bag, and a glimpse of white as he opened it. _PAYDIRT,_ Puck thought, and slid the worn piece of paper out.

* * *

><p>Later, after recopying the list and telling it all to Finn and Kurt (he never could keep a secret from Finn, after that business with Quinn), with his bottom smarting and red from the spanking Finn had delivered, he had a chance to look it over in more detail. "Some of this stuff we've already done," he said, laying on his stomach between them in the big bed. "This one, and this... and, hey, we did this yesterday." He grinned. "But the rest? I don't think I even know what the fuck some of these <em>are."<em>

"_I_ can't believe they _had_ this list. Sam?" Kurt shook his head in amazement, leaning on one elbow, while he stroked a gentle hand over Puck's raw posterior. "Dean, maybe, but I'm surprised Sam would be into... this."

"Why not?" Finn asked. He leaned back on the headboard and gazed calmly at his two boys. "I bet you never figured we'd be into it, either. People can surprise you."

Puck laughed, suddenly, and Finn cocked his head. "What is it?" he asked, with a smile.

"I don't know if you want to hear it, dude," Puck smirked. "Do I get punished for bad jokes?"

"Go ahead," Finn allowed warily.

"Well... I guess this is a good opportunity for me." Puck widened his eyes. "I doubt I'll ever get another chance to make the Dean's list."

Kurt groaned, but Finn just leaned forward and placed a fond kiss on Puck's head. "Well, then... I guess you'd better get started."


	2. Favorites, Prompt 1, Rituals

Kurt's favorite thing is when they sing together. He loves to hear Finn sing to him, ever since that first day when he sang the song that brought them together, through the door of his bathroom. Now they sing all the time, sometimes practicing songs from Glee, but more often sharing their own favorite music with one another, or even old songs from their childhoods. Puck wouldn't ever admit how much he likes it, too, but he's better at harmonies than Finn, and he's the one with the guitar, so he pretty much doesn't have a choice. Kurt will do the dishes after dinner if Puck sings to him, and if it's usually Neil Diamond, well, that's okay. Finn made him a playlist called "Three" and sneaked it onto his iPod, and he likes to hear it on his way to school, before they begin their six hours of pretending. It keeps him sane. The songs are anthems of togetherness, a reminder of who they are.

Finn's favorite thing is the green couch at Kurt's house. It's strong and solid, and brings them together, just like Finn himself. It was where he and Kurt started, after all, but now Puck is there more often than any of them, now that everything with his mom has gone to shit. He likes it when they do homework there, covering every available surface with papers and notebooks and stretching out wherever there's an available lap. He and Puck play video games there more often than they do at his house, after football practice or before dinner, yelling at the screen loud enough that Burt needs to come downstairs and tell them to shut the heck up. When Finn or Kurt read aloud to Puck, it's always on the green couch, and sometimes Burt or Carole come downstairs to join them. They watch movies there, too, from Kurt's extensive collection of musicals that he feels they must all know in order to be part of his life, or something just released that Puck picked up on the way over after school.

And, of course, it's the best place to make out, with plenty of room for two or three boys to sit or lay in a variety of configurations. They can all three stretch out on the long leg of the L, limbs entwined, or one can sit on the short leg to watch the other two, cock in hand, with deep appreciation for their sheer sexiness together. Finn likes to put Puck in that middle seat, with Kurt in his lap, and he scoots him forward so his ass is even with the edge of the couch, and slides into him with slow deliberation. It drives Puck crazy to go slow like that, and he likes to hear him making those noises of frustration and desire, there in the cradle of the couch. Finn's also determined the arms are the perfect height to provide support for a head on folded arms, while the rest of the boy is stretched over his lap, bottom in the air, ready for a spanking. The couch is more of a fixture in their lives than just about anything else, even their secret room at school.

Puck's favorite thing is being at their feet. They discovered this by accident, when Puck got his space on the floor next to the couch, and he disappeared into his book and didn't come out for an hour. After that, they made it intentional. When their family is around, they don't make a big deal out of it, though if they're watching television Puck will always wind up sitting in front of Kurt's chair, and he usually gets away with saying he just prefers eating dinner with his plate in hand, casually propped up against the wall by the door to the kitchen. But when it's just then, he feels free to ask for it. He'll come to Finn, sitting at the table, working on some project, and he'll look at him with questioning eyes, and Finn will smile that half-smile and pull back his chair, watching as Puck makes a space for himself under the table. Sometimes it'll be accompanied by a blowjob, and of course Puck's blowjobs are something neither of the boys would turn down, but more often than not it's just his warm body against their leg, his head on their knee, accompanied by sighs of contentment.

When they sleep in the big bed together, Finn's long body takes up one whole side, and Kurt has plenty of room to curl up next to him, while Puck sleeps at their feet. Sometimes they pull him into the space between them, especially when he has bad dreams. Most of the time he's up first anyway, and they wake find him perched on the foot of the bed, playing his guitar quietly, or occasionally waiting impatiently with a mischievous expression, and they know they're in for something good. He'll even paint Kurt's toenails if he tells him to, and as Finn discovered early on, Puck's footrubs are fucking _awesome._

Their favorite thing to do together, all three of them, is to put their heads together, foreheads touching, breathing each other in. It's the ritual of connection, one that never grows old or tired. In this place of peace, this temple of calm they create, they can reconnect and start over again. There's nothing better in the world than that.


	3. Skirt, Prompt 2, Cross-Dressing

"I told you, man," said Puck, angrily slamming down the pot on the stove. It made a little splash, and the gas flame flickered for a moment. "It's not like that. I don't like him because he looks like a _girl."_

"I know," Finn said, easing himself into a chair, and held out a soothing hand. "It's okay."

"No, it's not." Puck closed his eyes, anger gone as suddenly as it had come. Now he just looked anguished. "I can't believe he's still worried about that." He turned the gas off and leaned against the stove, crossing his arms.

"Can you see it from his point of view, though? You had the Cheerios uniform in your hand when you said it."

"Dude, he _does_ have great legs. So what? You saw him in that skirt at prom. Wasn't he smoking hot?"

"It was a kilt," said Finn absently. "Yeah. Of course he was."

Puck's forehead drew down into what looked suspiciously like a pout. "Just because I said he'd look hot in a skirt doesn't mean I want him to be a girl. I want him because he's… well, for too many things. I can't fucking name them all."

Finn put out a hand, offering his lap, and Puck was drawn to sit on his leg, somewhat unwillingly. "Maybe you should try."

"Okay," Puck said, uncertainly. "Um, well, there's this thing he does with his mouth when he's pissed off, that just gets me so hot –"

"No, dude," Finn grinned. "You should tell _him."_ He looped an arm around Puck's waist and gave him a squeeze.

"Oh."

"I know you're totally into him," said Finn. "And I know it's not because he's some substitute girl."

"No!" Puck seemed horrified by the idea. "If I wanted to be with a girl, I've got plenty of fucking choices, believe me. The Puckster can still line them up, ready and waiting."

Finn's hand made slow circles on his back. Puck sighed, letting his body relax a little bit against the hand, and Finn was pleased to see the lines in his face smooth. "Maybe," Finn suggested, "this isn't about you at all. He's been teased all his life for his voice, his attitude, his style. I'm guessing he's got some fears left over from that. What you said, it just reminded him about all the people in his life who've called him a girl."

"Fuck." Puck's head fell against Finn's chest, and he closed his eyes. "I messed up."

"It's never too late to fix it," said Finn. "And you can bet I'll help with that later. But right now, why don't you go to him and see what you can do to make him feel better?"

Finn's lips drew Puck out from the circle of his arm, but before Puck could deepen the kiss, Finn pulled away and encouraged him to stand, giving his bottom a gentle pat.

"What if he doesn't forgive me?" Puck said, and now his voice was low.

"He always has before," Finn said. "And he always will. Don't worry about that. Just go tell him how you really feel about him. And keep your hands to yourself until he hears you, okay? You're really distracting when you do that thing."

"What thing would that be?" Puck said, grinning, and did that thing to Finn.

"Brat," Finn growled. "Get the hell out of here."

"Yes, sir," Puck said, ducking his head, and Finn mentally added two extra strokes to his daily tally.

* * *

><p>"Kurt?" Puck said, pushing open the door to the bedroom. "Hey, man, I wanted to – oh."<p>

Kurt was standing in the center of the room, before the full-length mirror. Puck was surprised to see the uniform still fit him, because Kurt had filled out a lot in the past year, not only in height but in the chest, and his arms definitely had not done _that_ to the white half-sleeves the last time Puck saw him wear it.

And those were unquestionably _not_ the red striped pants Kurt had always worn with his uniform when he'd been on the Cheerios squad. Puck swallowed as Kurt did a little pirouette, graceful as always, and the skirt flared, giving a tantalizing glimpse of his strong thighs.

Kurt looked over his shoulder at Puck and, in a decidedly dirty manner, bit his lip. He let his eyes drop, then looked up again at Puck through his lashes. "What do you think?" he murmured.

Puck's mouth opened, and he had no idea what he'd been planning to say, but what came out was just the truth. "Dude, you are so fucking hot."

"So, the skirt does it for you?" Kurt spun again, and Puck wanted to lean over just a little bit because he couldn't _quite_ see what was going on underneath, but he thought maybe he had an idea, and the idea alone was giving him a hard on the size of Wyoming.

"No, man," Puck said, softly. _"You_ do it for me."

Kurt appraised himself coolly in the mirror, jerking up his chin and smoothing the skirt over his legs. "You have to admit, it does solve some of the issues regarding access. Maybe I should wear skirts more often."

"That's up to you," Puck shrugged. "I've never told you what to wear before."

Kurt's smile was pitying. "As though I'd listen to your advice when it came to clothes, Noah. I do your laundry, remember? I know exactly what proportion of your wardrobe consists of black t-shirts."

"No skirts, though," said Puck, taking a few steps forward, but Kurt shook his head, and Puck stopped where he was. "Maybe I should try wearing one myself."

"I've never wanted _you_ to dress like a girl, sweetheart." Kurt's voice was gentle, but his face carried pain, and some kind of self-recrimination that wrung Puck's heart.

"And what exactly do you think this means about you?" Puck said, his anger flaring again. "Fuck this. I came in here to tell you how you make me feel, but now I guess I'm just making it worse." He turned to go.

"Noah," Kurt said. Puck stopped, his head down, and breathed out his defeat. He felt Kurt's arms come around him from behind, Kurt's chin on his shoulder. It still felt weird, now that Kurt was taller than him.

"Why don't you tell me what you were going to say," he said.

"Now I can't even remember," Puck said truthfully. "All I want to do is get in your pants. Um, I mean." He shook his head and covered his face. "God, I can't even hit on my own boyfriend without fucking up."

"Stop that," Kurt commanded, swatting him hard on the ass. Puck made a surprised noise and staggered forward a step, catching himself against the wall, then moaned as Kurt slipped a hand under the curve of his ass and into the space between his legs. "I can feel _exactly_ what you think of me in this skirt. Don't deny it."

"No," Puck whimpered, and ground back against Kurt, feeling the skirt ride up just a little as he pressed his backside against Kurt's thighs. He cleared his throat, struggling to keep a grip on his intent. "But that doesn't mean I want you to be a girl."

"No." Kurt's hands came around to Puck's jeans and slowly unbuttoned them, his fingers sliding under the waistband to cup Puck's cock. "I don't think you want me to be a girl."

"I don't," Puck insisted. "God. You're a dude. I like you that way."

"There are things I'd have trouble doing to you if I wasn't," said Kurt, right against his ear, and Puck bucked his hips into Kurt's hand, biting back another moan. And then Kurt's hands were slipping his jeans off, followed by his shorts, and he could feel Kurt's bare legs, brushing against his own skin. "And I've got… plans for you, sweetheart."

"Oh," Puck gasped, because the skirt had ridden up and he could feel exactly what Kurt had on underneath. Which was nothing. He could feel the slippery satin of Kurt's hard cock, dragging across his bare ass and between his thighs.

"Tell me," said Kurt, parting Puck's legs, positioning them just so, just as he might if he were getting ready to deliver a particularly stinging blow to his bottom. "Tell me why you like me this way."

"This way?" Puck echoed, helplessly writhing under Kurt's soft, firm hands.

"I'm a boy," Kurt said, his voice light and sweet, but definitely not playing. "Tell me why you like that."

"Your… your hands," Puck stuttered. He could feel the sweat gathering in the small of his back as he arched his hips. "They're strong. You can – fuck, Kurt. You know just how to touch me. Girls never quite figure it out."

"Go on," Kurt said, and now his fingers were slick, and they dipped into the crease of Puck's ass with quick, purposeful strokes.

"Your mouth," said Puck, through gritted teeth. "You kiss like you know what you want. None of this tentative crap; you go for it. It's hot and wet and I dream about your fucking mouth on mine, Kurt." The last was a plea, but Kurt wasn't listening.

"Anything else?"

"Your cock," Puck whispered, feeling his ears heat up, and he leaned against the cool wall, closing his eyes and shuddering. "God."

"What was that?" Kurt prompted.

"I want your cock," Puck said, louder, almost angrily, and he cried out as he felt the blunt pressure of Kurt behind him, sliding into him, all of a sudden, and it might have hurt if he hadn't been so fucking turned on. As it was, he could feel his untouched cock twitching, ready to spill, and he warned him, "Kurt, you're gonna make me…"

"Yes," said Kurt, pulling back and filling him again, and again, and again. "I am."

Puck's hands never budged off the wall as his ass rose to meet Kurt's hips, hitting that perfect angle through long practice and familiarity, and he felt his heart bursting with regret and fear and sadness for anything that had ever hurt Kurt, ever, through his whole generous, passionate life. "Kurt," he said, brokenly. "Fuck, Kurt, I love you so much."

"I know, sweetheart," Kurt said, not stopping for one second, but running a hand down Puck's back, from the nape of his neck to the point of their connection. Puck could feel the hem of Kurt's skirt brush against his ass and legs with each thrust. "You don't have to be sorry for anything. This - _this _is how this boy wants to love you."

"Thank god," Puck groaned, and he came in long, sticky spurts against the wall. "Thank god for that."


	4. Test Me, Prompt 3, Spanking

**Test Me (Prompt #3: Spanking)**

Kurt was just finishing the vocabulary practice part of his SAT prep when he heard a noise from Finn's room. It wasn't the sort of noise one would expect to hear while studying, so Kurt got up to check it out. Sure enough, there was Finn, stretched out on his bed, flash cards forgotten, playing his DSi.

"Finn!" Kurt said, and Finn jumped, guiltily.

"I'm just taking, you know, a break," he said.

"Uh-huh. And how much exactly have you gotten done?"

Finn winced and ducked his head. "Um. I'm going to do it next."

"And how much did you do yesterday?" Kurt tapped his foot impatiently.

"Kurt," Finn protested. "It's not like studying is going to make all that much of a difference for me anyway. I'm not smart like you. I'm –"

"Okay, that's bullshit, and you know it," Kurt said. "Don't play dumb with me, Finn Hudson. You're just not trying."

"I can't focus," Finn sighed. "I'm really freaking out about the test and it's just getting to me. How do you handle that? Aren't you freaking out too?"

"Well," said Kurt, and paused, tapping one finger on his lip. His eyes narrowed to lasers, and one eyebrow went up.

"What?" Finn said, nervously.

"I know what you need," said Kurt, smiling. "I know _just _what you need. Noah?" The last was a shout out the door.

"Yeah?" came the muffled reply from upstairs.

"Can you take a break from cooking and come downstairs?"

A few moments later, Puck appeared in the doorway, holding a wooden spatula. He was wearing a wifebeater, jean cutoffs and an apron that read _I rub my meat for 2 minutes… but enough about my grilling secrets._ "The lasagna's in the oven," he said. "I'm all yours. Aren't you guys still studying, though?"

"_Some _of us are," Kurt stressed, looking pointedly at Finn, who had the grace to look guilty. "_Others_ of us are feeling too anxious and distracted to get down to studying."

"Oh," said Puck, glancing over at Finn. "Bummer."

"So what do _you_ do when you're feeling anxious and distracted, Noah?" Kurt asked, running a finger down the curve of his shoulder.

Puck wrinkled up his nose. "I…" Then his eyes got big, and he looked from Finn to Kurt with an increasing expression of panic. "No," he blurted.

"Yes," purred Kurt. "Finn, you need something we can give you. Come here."

Kurt sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him. Noah sat on the floor at Kurt's feet, and shook his head vehemently. "No. I'm not going to do it."

"You will if I tell you to," said Kurt. "Now, Finn." He turned his gaze on Finn, who tried to look away, but Kurt wouldn't let him. "You know you should have been studying all along, but instead you were goofing around with video games and avoiding the work. Right?"

"Yeah," said Finn. "But it probably won't make a difference anyway."

"And now you're feeling anxious and you can't get rid of this guilt," said Kurt.

"Maybe," said Finn. He squirmed under their combined regard. "What?"

"What do you do for us when we do something wrong?"

Finn gave him an incredulous look. "You want to spank me?" he said, laughing.

"No," Kurt said. "Noah's going to do it."

Finn froze. His eyes drifted over to connect with Puck's. Puck looked horrified, like he'd been handed a wet hairball. "Dude," he said. "Please don't make me do this."

"Noah, you know how it helps you," Kurt said, with impeccable logic. "There's no reason why we can't do this for Finn, too. And I'll be the one in charge. You don't have to worry about that. I'm just saying you can be the… the muscle."

"You're the brains, huh?" Puck said, still with a vague expression of smelling something bad. "Great."

"Uh, guys?" Finn waved a hand in front of Kurt's face. "Don't I get a say here?"

"Sorry, Finn," Kurt said briskly. "Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cakehole." He smoothed his legs. "Now come here." He helped Finn stand and unzipped his jeans.

"I'm not sure I like being on this side of things," said Finn uneasily. "Here, I can do that." He wriggled his jeans down and pulled his shorts over his rear end, then awkwardly leaned over Kurt's lap, his bare bottom sticking up into the air.

"Noah," Kurt said, beckoning with one finger. Puck stood slowly, cautiously, like they were a nest of hornets. Kurt considered him, and nodded. "That spatula will do nicely. Give it a try. Right here." He pointed to the center of Finn's right cheek. "Go for it."

Puck hesitated, then gave Finn's bottom a weak little smack with the spatula. It barely made a noise. Finn shot Kurt an amused look. Kurt sighed.

"Try again, Noah. You have to put some force behind it. This is for Finn. It's going to help him. You want to help, right?"

"Yeah," said Puck. "I guess."

"You guess?" Now Kurt's voice had an edge to it, and Puck swallowed.

"I mean, yes, sir," he said.

"Do this for Finn," said Kurt, with that same edge. "And do it right."

Puck took a deep breath and tried again. This time there was a satisfying _smack_ when the spatula hit Finn's bottom. He made a little _oof._

"You know," Finn said, helpfully, propping himself up on one arm, "it's like playing baseball. Remember when Mr. Schue gave us lessons in dancing for Acafellas? It's all in the hips." He smiled at Puck.

"Thanks, man," Puck said, smiling back, and the smiling and eye contact went on a little too long, so Kurt cleared his throat and gently pushed Finn back down to the bed. This time Puck took a little step, swung the spatula hard, and made contact.

_Smack._

_"Owwww,"_ Finn squawked, and tried to scramble off Kurt's lap. "Fuck, man! Too hard, too hard."

"Better," said Kurt to Puck. "Ten like that, right on that same spot."

"You got it," said Puck, and delivered, just that way. _Smack. Smack. Smack._

"Ow – hey, stop – wait! I'm – I'll do the homework – _ow! –_ stop that, fuck, guys –"

"It's better to get it over with," said Puck, shrugging. "Seriously. It'll be over soon."

"That really – _fuck!_ – hurts, you're doing it too – _ow!"_ He put a hand behind him to rub his behind, but Kurt held his hand down.

"You really don't want to get hit in the hand," said Kurt, kindly. "That _really_ can do some damage. Okay, Noah, ten more on the other side."

"_What?" _Finn yelped. "That's enough! Really, I've learned my – _ow! Owwww."_

Kurt and Puck exchanged sympathetic glances, because, of course, they understood all too well how much a well-placed spanking _really_ hurt. Finn kept protesting the whole way, through to the last swat. He regarded Kurt with indignation.

"Are you done?" he said, glaring at him.

"I'm not sure," Kurt said, considering him thoughtfully. "You haven't broken down and cried yet. But I'm not sure if a Top getting spanked is supposed to do that. Do you think you've learned your lesson?"

"Yeah," said Finn ruefully. "Next time I'll turn the volume down on my DSi if I'm trying to sneak around."

Puck and Kurt exchanged looks, and together they said, "Ten more."


	5. Chocolaty Chew, Prompt 4, Biting

_(Author's note: if you do not know the Tootsie Roll song, let me pop your cherry for you: http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=qayjR8Qbyfc _

_And you must have already seen the Mr. Owl commercial for Tootsie Pops, or the story will make no sense: http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=Jhjb4P_jnKk _

_Finally, thank you to songirl77 for the excellent idea, and endless inspiration. Enjoy! -amy)_

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><p><strong>Chocolaty Chew (Kinky Ways Prompt #5: Biting)<strong>

It was an ordinary evening at the Hudmel house, and Puck was relaxing in his favorite spot while Kurt and Finn finished their math homework.

"The world looks mighty good to me," sang Kurt absently, twirling his pencil around his fingers, "cause Tootsie Rolls are all I see…"

"What the hell are you singing, dude?" Puck muttered from under the table.

"Sorry," Kurt chirped. "It's that old Tootsie Roll commercial – I saw it on YouTube the other day. Dad said it was on in the 1970s, back when he was our age. It just got stuck in my head."

"You can get it unstuck _any time_," Puck said, and Kurt nudged him affectionately with his knee.

It was quiet for a little while, and then, like a thread of bouncy, sweet taffy unrolling from his mouth, Kurt began again: "Tootsie Roll, how I love your chocolaty chew… Tootsie Roll, I think I'm in love with you…"

"_Dude,"_ came Puck's voice, dripping with wounded indignation.

"Sorry, sorry…" Kurt apologized again, and once again there was silence.

Finn glanced up at Kurt, then back down to his math homework, and grinned. "Mr. Turtle," he said in a squeaky voice, "how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie pop?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, _really?" _they heard, and Kurt stifled a giggle.

Kurt made his voice low and trembly, as though it were coming from an old person. "Oh, I never made it without biting," he said. "Ask Mr. Owl."

"Mr. Owl," Finn said, in that same squeaky voice, and then he stopped, with a startled expression on his face. "Um… oh." His eyes lost focus for a moment, and there was the sound of a zipper being drawn down. Finn dropped his pencil.

"_How many licks…" _Kurt prompted, watching Finn's face intently.

Finn tried again. "Um… how many licks does it take to get… _oh…_ to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?"

"Let's find out," Kurt declared, in a silky voice. "One…"

"_Jesus,"_ Finn whimpered, jerking.

"Two-hoo," Kurt continued, with a little trill.

Finn moaned, his eyes closing, and leaned back in his chair.

"Three."

"Ohhh, that's – _holy shit!"_ Finn yelped, leaping in his chair and banging his knee on the underside of the table. "Ow!"

"Three," repeated Kurt, smirking.

Finn's eyes were the size of fried eggs, but he didn't stand up, and he slowly lowered his hands to the dinner table, palms down, just hovering there. He took a shaky breath and let it out through parted lips. His eyes skated over the table. Then he ran his tongue over his teeth, and said, more calmly now, "Sorry, Mr. Owl… I didn't hear you the first time. Could you… repeat yourself?"

Kurt's gaze became glassy, and his own breath came a little faster. He didn't take his eyes from Finn. "One," he said, a little more quietly.

Finn's eyes rolled back into his head again, and he thrust himself into the space under the table. "Oh," he said, "_yeah."_

"Two… three… four…" Kurt went on, smoothly, the numbers climbing, and Finn sank lower and lower in his chair, emitting soft little moans and cries.

"… twenty-three… twenty-four… twenty-five…"

Finally Finn's eyes opened, connecting to Kurt's, and in response to the questioning eyebrow Kurt raised, he gave a little tense nod. Kurt nudged Puck under the table with his foot. "_Twenty-five," _he said.

Finn's breath caught, and he groaned, loud and low. "God, Puck… your _teeth…"_

"You like that?" Kurt whispered, hanging on Finn's words.

"Yes," Finn hissed, his face red. "Apparently. Oh. God." His jaw worked and his eyes slipped closed again.

"Hey, guys," they heard from the kitchen, the door slamming, and Finn and Kurt barely had time to glance at one another in consternation and horror before Carole walked in the kitchen, Sarah tagging behind her. They both held tennis racquets and they looked happily exhausted.

"Mom," Finn said, too brightly. "You're home early."

"Yeah, we finished our game and decided to come home to make dinner, give Puck a day off." She glanced around the dining room. "Where is Puck, anyway?"

"He's… busy," Kurt hedged. "Carole, why don't you go get cleaned up and I'll help get things started after I… finish this."

"Sounds good," Carole said, and she disappeared up the stairs. Finn was frozen, not looking at Sarah, and Kurt pressed his lips together.

"Um… what's going on here?" Sarah said, curiously.

"We were just…" Kurt started, then hesitated. Finn's face was approaching the color of a cherry Tootsie Pop.

"_No,"_ Puck said, and stuck his head out from under the table. "Not in front of my sister, we're not. Sarah, get the hell upstairs and let us finish, okay?"

"No problem," Sarah said, not even blinking, and scampered up the staircase. "Have fun!"

From his knees, Puck was even with the table. He rested his chin on his crossed arms, and looked pointedly at Finn. "Hmm," he said.

"What," Finn said, avoiding his stare.

He cocked his head. "This is… new."

"I'm not allowed to surprise you?" Finn asked testily. "I didn't even know, okay?"

Puck just disappeared beneath the table again, and after a moment, Kurt watched as Finn's breathing became erratic and his eyes closed. "Um…" said Finn.

"One," said Kurt, serenely. "Two… three…"

"Yes… god." Finn's shoulders writhed, and his lips went slack, eyes still closed. "Just… just like that. Don't stop…."

Finn's breath heaved rhythmically to the sound of Kurt's counting, until Kurt saw Finn's lip begin to tremble, and he tapped Puck with his foot. "… thirty-seven… thirty-eight. _Thirty-eight."_

"Oh, fuck, oh, _ohfuckohfuck –" _ Finn's voice escalated as he tensed, and Kurt quickly scrambled to his feet to swallow the sounds of Finn's cries in a wet kiss.

Finn nearly knocked the table over in his enthusiastic thrashing, and the chair scooted backward several steps as he pushed with his feet. He bucked twice more against Puck's mouth, then lay flattened across the chair, spent and panting.

"Okay," Puck said in satisfaction, hitching Finn's jeans back up over his slack form. "Good to know."

"Puck," Finn said weakly. He thrust out a wobbly arm and it grazed his shoulder, but he made it around Puck's neck on the second try. He gave him a floppy one-arm hug.

"You're just saying that," Puck grinned, rocking into the arm.

"Whatever it is I think I see," hummed Kurt, returning to his last math problem, "becomes a Tootsie Roll to me…"


	6. Slippery Situation, Prompt 5, Oil

**Slippery Situation (50 Kinky Ways Prompt #5: Oil)**

_(Author's note: thanks to Christiescorner dot com__ for excellent instructions on making salad dressing. Warnings for m/m sex, food porn, sappy sex dialogue and one really bad pun. Enjoy! -amy)_

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><p>Puck picked up the bottle of olive oil and gave it a little shake. "So, basically, you need five things to make a good dressing."<p>

Kurt rested his hands on his lap, ankles crossed, ever the attentive student. "All right," he said.

"One: oil." He held aloft the bottle. "Don't bother with anything too pricey. Some ordinary stuff from the grocery store is fine, as long as it's not rancid. Most people like olive oil, or safflower is good. I like to add some sesame oil for flavor."

While Kurt watched avidly, Puck poured two cups of olive oil into the large mason jar on the table. He licked a splash off the side of his hand. "Hey," Kurt said, raising an eyebrow. "That's my job."

Puck grinned and went on. "Two: acid." He held up the balsamic vinegar. "You can also use red or white wine vinegars, or lemon juice." A cup of balsamic vinegar went into the mason jar. He sliced the lime in half and squeezed its juice on top, then obligingly offered his hand to Kurt.

Kurt leaned slowly across the table, gazing at Puck under lowered lids, and tasted the dripping lime juice on Puck's wrist with the tip of his tongue. "Mmm," he said, "tangy." He made short work of the rest of the lime juice with three long licks. Puck closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation, and left them closed for a moment when Kurt was done.

"Please," said Kurt, low and melodic. "Do go on."

Puck cleared his throat. "Uh. Three: something sweet." He added a splash of apple juice to the mixture and swirled it. "Sugar, honey, syrup – anything will do."

"Honey," suggested Kurt, his tongue on his lips. Puck blinked and swallowed.

"Maybe next time," he said hoarsely. "Moving on. Four: salt." Puck took a pinch from the dish and sprinkled it in. "You want this?" he said, offering his fingertips to Kurt.

"Hmm." Kurt considered them, but shook his head. "I think I'll pass. What's number five?"

"Aromatics." Puck flourished his chef's knife and indicated the herbs arrayed on his cutting board. "Shallots… garlic… basil and cilantro." He quickly minced the shallots and crushed the garlic, then coarsely chopped the herbs and slid the whole pile into the mason jar. "That's it. Then you just put the lid on nice and tight, shake it, and pour it all over… uh…" He shrank back from Kurt's expression. "All over…"

"Pour it all over _what?"_ Kurt said silkily.

"Salad?" Puck gulped. "Or whatever…"

"Excellent." Kurt strode around the table and pressed Puck up against the refrigerator, knocking down three magnets, a shopping list and a picture drawn by Brad's daughter Cory. "I think you need a snack."

Puck gasped as Kurt ran his hands along Puck's rib cage, up under his arms and drew his hands up above his head. "You want me to try the dressing?" Puck said, faintly.

"I think I'd like you to try… drizzling it on something." Kurt's fingers traced a line from Puck's hands, all the way down his arm, along the line of his ribs, to the hem of his shirt. Kurt tucked his fingers under the shirt and inched it up, revealing a stripe of tanned stomach. "I'm sure it will taste _delicious."_

"Oh, god," Puck whispered. He heaved his T-shirt over his head and tossed it in the corner, then kicked off his shorts. He made similarly short work of Kurt's sweater and pants, though Kurt reclaimed the item of clothing before Puck could toss it on the floor ("It's a Smalto runway piece!"). With a few sweeps of his hands, he cleared the counter, scooped Kurt up in his arms and laid him out like a smorgasbord.

Kurt made an exclamation of pleasure and surprise, and he leaned up into Puck's touch as he stroked him with both hands. "Now that you've undressed me," Kurt smiled, fingertips lightly touching Puck's bare chest, outlining his nipple ring, "you can… dress me."

Puck grasped the mason jar and gave it a vigorous shake…

… to the abject horror of Kurt, who screeched as the lid flew off, dousing him with torrents of basil-cilantro vinaigrette.

"I thought you tightened the lid," Puck said, gazing in shock at a drenched, furious Kurt, who was no longer lounging upon the countertop. He was now sitting up, legs over the edge of the counter, wiping the excess dressing out of his eyes and letting it drip off his toes.

"I didn't _touch_ it, Noah," Kurt shrieked. The dressing was in his hair – oh, _fuck, _it was in his _hair, _Puck thought, _I'm really in for it now –_ and Puck tried to comb it out with his fingers, but Kurt just smacked his hand away. "Do _not_ attempt to make it better without at least six different kinds of product."

"It can't be worse than slushies," Puck said hopefully, as Kurt stalked off to the bathroom. "Can't I get in the shower with –"

"_No."_

"Jeez," he sighed, pouting. "This sucks."

* * *

><p>It wasn't until much later, long after Kurt had finished his shower and Puck had cleaned up the kitchen, that they were alone again together. Puck cautiously sat on the end of the couch where Kurt was curled up, reading, in his white robe. He thoroughly ignored Puck. It was the most pointed snubbing Puck had ever experienced.<p>

"Sorry," Puck muttered, flickering his eyes at Kurt.

Kurt went on ignoring him. He turned a page and sighed quietly.

"I was thinking I might… have a way to apologize… that you would enjoy," Puck went on, taking out a bottle of jojoba oil. Kurt didn't say anything, but his gaze went briefly to the bottle before he continued reading.

Then he casually adjusted the way he was sitting, stretching out his legs so they went along the couch, about halfway to where Puck was sitting. They were close enough so that Puck could touch them, should he decide to reach out and do so.

He did, running his strong hand over Kurt's pale calf, then along the arch of his foot, and finally taking the heel of his hand into his palm. Kurt's breath lengthened, and he sighed again as he stretched his legs.

"Kurt," Puck said, uncapping the jojoba oil and squeezing some into his hand. "I'm really sorry for what happened."

"Oh?" Kurt said, finally looking at Puck over the cover of his book.

"I didn't mean to spill that dressing on you," he said, coating Kurt's foot and calf with a thin layer of oil. Puck's thumbs dug a pattern into the arch of his foot, up along the underside, making Kurt's eyelids drop a little more each time he rubbed, until Kurt was relaxing into his touch, the book forgotten in his lap.

"I know, sweetheart," Kurt murmured. "It's okay."

"I really liked making it for you, though." Puck gave him a shy smile, continuing the circles of his thumb, up along Kurt's calf, separating the muscle with gentle pressure. "I love cooking for you."

"Uhhhh," Kurt said, letting his legs part slightly, and his robe slid to one side, revealing the creamy white skin of his thigh. Puck ran his hand up to touch the skin, and the robe fell open completely.

"God, Hummel," Puck groaned, coming up on his knees, leaning over Kurt to kiss him on the neck. "You're more delicious without dressing."

His slick hands slid into the space between Kurt's legs and spread him open, leaving big greasy handprints on Kurt's ass. Kurt made quiet moans, bending his legs back to give Puck better access, and gazed up at Puck from the couch. "This is my favorite thing with you, Noah," he said, eyes dark and loving.

"Really?" Puck blurted, shocked. It took him a minute to recover, but Kurt nudged the oil back into action, and he poured some more into his hand before he spread it evenly along Kurt's tight, puckered opening. Kurt's breath caught as he tucked a finger inside and stroked the muscle there, helping it relax. "God. Your favorite thing? Really?"

"Yeah," Kurt admitted. "I love it when you lay me out like this. Like I'm a meal you're preparing, each dish just so. You're so careful, so precise. So much attention to detail." He pulled Puck into a kiss, and felt his arousal pressed against his ass. "You're such a good lover. And a good cook."

"I guess… I've been practicing a while," Puck grinned. "I'm glad, though, because – because now I can be good for you. Because it really matters, you know. With you." He slid another finger inside him, rubbing deep inside, along the ridged tissue that made Kurt writhe and gasp.

"I hope I can be just as good for you, someday," Kurt said, blushing. Puck gazed at him with astonishment.

"What are you talking about?" He was so surprised that he stopped moving, and Kurt had to touch his hand to get him to resume his touches. "Oh, sorry. What do you mean, _someday?"_

"Well," Kurt hesitated, "I've never really done this with anybody before you, and Finn. I don't have a lot of experience."

Puck's answer was immediate and clear: his thick cock, coated with a liberal dose of jojoba oil, pressing insistently into Kurt's ass. "Does this feel like somebody who needs it to feel any _better?"_ he growled. "Because any better and I'd be coming all over your lap, instead of in your ass."

"Oh," Kurt cried, taking a hitching breath, as Puck slid suddenly into Kurt's body, his tight belly pressed right up against Kurt's now rock-hard cock, filling him. "God, that's… _so_ much what I wanted."

"You feel incredible, baby," Puck said, licking his lips, pulling back and sliding forward again, cautiously, deliberately, seeking that perfect angle. It didn't take long.

"Oh – fuck, _Noah,"_ he said, his breath coming in shuddering pants. "You… you feel… god, there's nothing like you, inside me."

"Yeah," Puck groaned. The oil was different from their usual lube, not quite as slippery, but softer somehow, feeling more like skin, with a little friction. It was driving him crazy. "The way you feel – baby, I can't get enough."

Kurt let his head fall back against the back of the green couch, lifting his hips up and driving himself against Puck's thrusts, giving as good as he got. "That's it," Kurt urged, his breathing speeding up, "that's it… yes, sweetheart, that's just right, just like that… _oh!"_

"Kurt," Puck gasped, and felt his release wrung out of him as Kurt's cock, untouched, twitched and writhed against his belly. He managed to wrap one hand around Kurt's cock and strip it just twice before Kurt came all over his smooth chest.

Puck collapsed on top of Kurt, and they just lay there, panting and heaving, for almost a minute before either one could talk. "You're going to have to finish that foot massage another time," Kurt said, his voice low and husky in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

"Oh, yeah?" Puck said, his lips tipping up in a smile.

Kurt drew Puck down on top of him, pressing their bodies together. "I need this first. You feel too good."

"Suits me." He curled up on Kurt's chest, finding the way their legs and arms slid together just so, the perfect fit of their bodies. He closed his eyes. "I'm ready for a rest."

"Welcome to Hummel Tires and Lube," Kurt murmured, and it was a while before they stopped laughing.


	7. Seeing Eye Puck, Prompt 31, Voyeur

_(Author's note: Thanks to flinchflower for co-writing – go check out her awesome Dean/Sam 50 KW (and other) stories!)_

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><p><strong>Seeing Eye Puck (Prompt #31: Voyeur)<strong>

Puck never would have expected the noises he heard coming out of the guest room at Kurt's house, but these were extraordinary circumstances. He was supposedly the only one in the house. Clearly that was not that case - these were definitely the sound of more than one voice.

Not that Puck was supposed to be there, either. He should have been at rehearsal. But it was a fucking Saturday, and Puck was not spending more time on Glee when he could be doing... well, anything he wanted, really.

Right now he wanted to be sitting in front of Burt's 55-inch screen with a tall cold one, playing Finn's new video game. Finn had been sitting on it for days, saving it for a time when all three boys could play together - Kurt would only play video games when he was a little bit drunk, which precluded doing it in front of his father or Carole - and Puck was more than a little annoyed about this. Finn could be so fucking controlling sometimes.

He took a few silent steps along the wall and pressed himself against the door, listening.

"You're sure they're gonna be gone for a while, Sam?"

"Absolutely. Burt and Carole went into Columbus for the day, and the kids are at some Glee thing all morning - Kurt was complaining about it being a mandatory practice."

Puck bit his lip and strained his ears to hear the details. He only felt a little guilty about listening - they were good guys, Sam and Dean, and he'd appreciated their friendship and mentoring over the past week, while they were waiting for their (fucking awesome) car to get fixed. But after his discovery of THE LIST, Puck's knowledge of the two brothers had taken on a decidedly different turn. They had... an unusual relationship. Not unlike that between Puck and Finn, if he was going to be honest. They'd always considered themselves brothers. Was this really so different?

He edged his way into the bathroom, peering through the crack between the sliding door and the door frame, until he could see Sam and Dean. There was a clear view of their double bed, and the looks they were giving each other were anything other than brotherly.

"So we've got a couple hours..." Sam gave Dean the pleading eyes. "It's been days-"

"Whine and all you'll get is a whuppin', boy," Dean told him, lazing back on the bed. "Or did you have something in particular in mind?"

Sam returned the smirk. "Maybe a little of this," he said, pinning Dean's smaller form beneath him, and shutting the older boy up with a deep kiss, tongue thrusting suggestively, as his hands fumbled at Dean's belt and the button fly. Dean's cock was already there, and Sam smirked into the kiss.

Puck smothered a groan and silently sat on the floor, leaning up against the cupboard under the sink to get a better view. _This was hot. Definitely hot._ He pressed his hand against the seam of his jeans and tried not to make any noise.

Dean felt the smirk, and grabbed the kid, flipping the two of them fast so that Sam was pinned beneath. "I think I like this view a little better. Strip, Sam."

"And if I don't," Sam said, though his smile belied the insolent tone he was using.

Dean snorted. "Only one cure for that," he said, grasping Sam's t-shirt and drawing it over his head. He stripped the kid of jeans and boxers in short order, rolled Sam over and planted two smarting slaps on Sam's ass.

It was clear that these suggestive slaps were turning Sam the fuck on, instead of making him yelp. Sam's moaned response went straight to Puck's cock, and he had to unbutton his fly to make room for the sudden swelling in his crotch. He nudged his phone with his hand as he adjusted himself... which gave him an idea.

A wicked, wicked idea.

He had to pause and consider for a moment, something Puck didn't do very often, because he knew, he _knew_, if he did what he was thinking about doing, he would have to pay for it later.

It was fucking worth it, he decided. This was an opportunity he might never have again, to watch these two men, two very _hot_ men, whom he admired so much - and apparently with whom he had a _lot_ of things in common - get very naked with each other.

"Do you-"

"My backpack's under the bed if you reach-"

"Such a good boy scout, Sammy," Dean teased.

"Just get the lube, Dean-" His words cut off as Dean claimed his mouth again, his now slick hand wrapped around both of their rigid cocks, jacking them together.

Puck launched the video chat app on his phone with one hand, activating the mute button at the same time he shot off a quick text to Kurt: _You need to see this. Can you get away from rehearsal?_

The answer came almost immediately: _God, yes. Rachel and Mr. Schue are at each other's throats about the interpretation of You Are My Lucky Star. Please, just kill me now._

_Can you get out without Finn seeing?_

"Fuck, Dean, if you keep that up -"

"I think I will," he said, gripping a little harder, hand moving faster. "Round two oughta be right up, hey Sammy?"

"I think you might be ri-" Sam's words cut off as Dean's thumb flicked over his slit, and his back arched as he came, spasming harder as he felt Dean stiffen above him, and lose it as well.

Puck almost missed the response from Kurt, he was so riveted on the action in front of him. It was inspiring him in ways he could hardly describe. He knew he liked to watch, had been clear about that from the beginning, from the very first day he'd seen Kurt and Finn on the green couch, with their hands and mouths on each other, but this - this was fucking _incredible._

_I'm alone. What did you want to show me?_

_This. _He turned on the video feed and wedged the camera into the space between the doors. Now his hands were free, and he took advantage of this to finish unbuttoning his jeans and working his hand inside his boxers. Luckily he could be a sneaky masturbator when he wanted to be. It wouldn't do to be discovered by - _oh, god. _He closed his eyes against the image of Sam or - holy shit, _Dean_ - finding him there on the floor of the bathroom with his hand wrapped around his cock, and his phone streaming video of them to Kurt.

Sam's arms reached round the older man, and Dean rested his forehead on Sam's.

"Damn, bro - wound a little tight there."

"Not like I've seen any action for a couple of days."

"There's always the shower- " Dean groaned. "You haven't, have you?"

"In a teenager's bathroom. You pervert," Sam snickered, then gasped as Dean's hand slid along his inner thigh."

Puck stroked himself a little faster at the thought of Sam in the shower, _that_ shower, where just yesterday he and Kurt had wedged themselves against the wall and Kurt had spent nearly a half hour riding him, until he thought he might dissolve into a solution of water and Puck, right there in the tub. Imagining Sam and Dean, doing - things - to each other in _that_ shower, was enough to make him come right there. He backed off a little and checked the text screen below the video chat window.

_Are you kidding me, Noah?_ Yes, there were three question marks. Kurt was either really pissed or really turned on. Puck could bet both, actually. But he noticed Kurt hadn't cut the connection; he was watching, too. And that was a turn-on all by itself.

"You're gonna break the land speed record for refractory period there, kid, or I'll get out the riding crop."

"_Fuck,"_ Sam moaned, as his cock, still sensitive, began to rise.

Dean laughed. "There might be a reward for you there, Sammy - hard on command? I think I like that - Mistress Tess would be _damn_ proud of you-" He cut off with a groan as Sammy's hands wrapped 'round his ass cheeks, massaging and squeezing, and one of the kid's gigantic hands slicked up and down Dean's spine, working at all the sensitive spots.

Sam thrust up into the older man's cock, feeling a response, and worked a little harder at Dean's ass, hand sneaking around to fondle the responsive skin and Dean's heavy balls.

"So who's bottoming?"

Puck swallowed, his throat constricting momentarily at the very question - he'd assumed it was a done deal that Sam - but indeed, it seemed to be the case, from the smile on Dean's face.

"Who do you think, baby," Dean said, post-orgasm voice still deep and gravelly, cocking an eyebrow at him, and Sam couldn't help it, he shivered.

"Maybe you'd better get busy with a little something," Sam suggested, spreading his legs wide and canting his ass up towards Dean.

Puck tilted his head to get a better view and licked his lips, feeling the surge of interest in his cock take him that much closer to completion. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there, but that was a thought for another time. Right now, he was completely enthralled by the real-life porno that was being enacted before his eyes... and the eye of his camera, trained on the two men on the guest room bed.

"Maybe I want you to help," Dean murmured, enjoying the widening of Sam's eyes. He reached out and captured Sam's wrist, bringing one of the big hands to his mouth. He wrapped his tongue around Sam's middle finger, even as his other hand was flipping the cap of the slick open to get a palmful of lube. "Come on, Sammy," he murmured, finger circling the tight pucker.

Sam's eyes were still wide, even as he brought his hand down, gasping a little at the feeling of both of their hands between his cheeks. He moaned as Dean's finger slipped inside, teasing and plunging, and a moment later, Dean kissed him.

"I wanna feel you in here with me, Sammy - so tight."

Puck could feel his own ass clench in sympathetic response to Dean's words, and he gasped to himself as he realized what they were attempting to do. _Whoa. I wonder if - wouldn't that hurt? _It certainly didn't look like it was hurting Sam any.

Sam's finger circled around, sliding onto the webbing between Dean's fingers, picking up a little more slick. He choked a little at the sensation as his finger slid along Dean's, hips shivering at the slightly burning sensation of a little bit more than he was used to this early in the game.

"Atta boy, fuckin' hot, Sam-" He swallowed the whimper Sam gave as Dean slipped a second finger of his own in. His fingers twined around Sam's, now guiding both of their hands. The kid was distracted, eyes rolling back a little and Dean glanced down at their rock hard cocks in appreciation. "A little more Sammy, come on-" Dean groaned, himself, as Sam's second finger slid in slowly, hesitatingly, and Dean marveled at the kid's trust.

Puck's haze of lust was interrupted by a steely grip on his neck. At the same time, he saw a hand reach down and pluck the phone from where it was propped against the door frame, cutting off the feed. Puck tipped his head up in shock and dread to see the impassive face of Finn bearing down on him, considering his rigid cock and state of undress with stony silence.

"..." Puck said, his mouth gaping, and his eyes flickered back and forth between Finn and the compelling scene on the other side of the door. He really didn't think he had a leg to stand on, but he _wished_ he could beg Finn for just a few more minutes, _please_, sir, so he could see the way this delicious scene played out. Because, dude. _Fucking hot!_

"Dean, please," Sam panted, fingers working in and out of himself, intertwined with Dean's. His pupils blown wide with lust. Dean leaned down to capture Sam's mouth, reluctantly sliding their fingers away. A glance at Sam got a nod - and Dean's cock slid home in one slick thrust, Sam's passage open and willing from the extra stimulation.

"Jesus, Sammy," he said, and Sam moaned - just what he loved, when the kid got loud. Sure enough, as he thrust in and out, each movement wrenched another noise from Sam, and he was out of breath himself, desperate to bury himself deeper in the younger man. "Fuck, kid, you-" Dean's brain wasn't quite working enough to form sentences here, and he was getting damn close. Sam's eyes were rolling back in his head and Dean felt the warmth start at the base of his spine, coiling up, watching the furtive movements that told him Sam was at the same place.

Finn took advantage of the sound cover to haul Puck to his feet by one hand, dragging him out the other side of the adjoining bathroom into Kurt's bedroom. He threw him bodily onto the bed and was on top of him before Puck could even button up his pants.

"You're unbelievable," Finn hissed into his ear, gripping his biceps hard in his big hands. "You're spying on Kurt's houseguests? You're _videotaping_ them? What the hell are you _thinking?"_

"They're fucking hot, man," Puck whined hoarsely, feeling Finn's breath hot on his neck. He couldn't help himself; he bucked his hips up against Finn's, digging his leaking cock into the zipper of Finn's jeans with absolute need. "Come on, man - let me -"

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Finn whispered in disgust. "You -" He glanced down at Puck's erection and sighed, once. "All right. And then we've got some business to take care of."

"Okay, yeah, that's fine," Puck said, wrapping his legs around Finn's gratefully, rubbing off on him, feeling Finn's clear response (this was Finn, after all). Finn reached a hand down and gripped him tightly, giving him the friction he'd been craving, and he stifled a moan. Puck could still hear the twin voices of Sam and Dean in the other room, and it fired his response - and he felt Finn respond, too, his own breath coming faster at the sounds.

"Dean, harder- please-"

"Sammy-"

"_Yes!"_

"_Fuck...!" _

Groans ripped from both men's throats at the same time that Puck gasped, "Shit, Finn -" and thrust up into his solid grip one final time before coating Finn's t-shirt with sticky ropes of come. Finn's body tensed, and he curled into Puck's stomach, his breathing peaking suddenly, and Puck could feel him shudder with release.

"Whoa," Puck said, his eyes wide, as he lay motionless on Kurt's bed. "That was - "

"You are _not_ going to tell them about this," Finn said in a low, even voice, and Puck was suddenly mute, his head nodding automatically. He felt like he might need to get off the bed and sit on the floor. Finn's eyes were cold and hard.

"Yes sir," he whispered.

"These men have been nothing but kind to us," Finn went on, his mouth barely moving, but Puck could hear every word. "They put us in touch with Dr. Howell. They've helped us with Spanish and math, man. Doesn't that count for something? We owe them respect, not this - this voyeuristic _shit."_ The curse came off Finn's lips like a knife, and Puck winced.

"I'm sorry," he said, eyes pleading.

"You're going to be," Finn said grimly. "Now get your pants on. We'd better get out of here before they realize what you've done."

* * *

><p>Dean smirked down at Sammy, whose eyes had rolled back in his head just before the kid passed out. He knew from experience that Sam would be out for a few minutes, that the faint would probably merge with sleep, as tired as Sam would be. He rested a few moments, then went about cleaning himself up and slipping into his jeans, making sure Sammy was cleaned up and covered with one of their own soft fleece blankets that travelled everywhere with them. Now, to go find out who their little audience had been.<p> 


	8. Taking One for the Team, Prom 20, Corner

**Taking One for the Team (50 KW Prompt #20 - Standing in the Corner)**

_(Author's note: This is the sequel to Seeing Eye Puck. If you have not read that one, you might want to read it first. Multiple points of view, mostly Dean and Finn, so sorry if that's confusing. -amy and flinchflower)_

"Ah... should'a known it was you two," said Dean, coming around the corner.

Finn and Puck froze in the moment of truth. Dean clearly knew exactly what had happened. They were caught, no two ways about it. Finn glanced at Puck, who'd had barely had time to button up his pants, and took a resigned breath.

"Dean - I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I take full responsibility for - invading your privacy."

Dean leaned up against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, the dark tan standing out starkly against the worn white tee he was wearing. He was barefoot, and as Finn eyed him up and down, he didn't think it detracted from the sheer dominance the older man was radiating.

"Full responsibility. That might come with a high price," came the reply, his eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Whatever you think is appropriate," Finn said through tight lips, as Puck stared at him, aghast.

"Dude," he said, close to panic. "It wasn't you. It was totally me. You didn't do - it wasn't your -"

"Look," Finn said, with one shake of his head. "You're mine. I'm in charge. Right?"

"Um," Puck said, glancing to Dean, and then let his chin drop to his chest. "Yessir."

Finn put a hand on his arm. "So this is my problem. I'll take care of whatever - needs to be done."

Dean's sharp gaze had shifted between Finn and Puck, waiting. "I like a man who can stand up and take responsibility." He believed the kid, and he wondered for a moment if this was how John had felt when he and Sam were teenagers, Dean attracting the blame for whatever stupid thing the two of them had done. He had some vivid memories of what those consequences had been like - hell, if he was honest? still like, because John Winchester, father, hunter, and United States Marine was definitely still the top dog in their household.

Finn returned Dean's gaze with cool aplomb. "It's the right thing to do." He swallowed, painfully, and steeled himself for what was to come.

"Things like this get handled a couple ways in the Winchester house," Dean said, standing up straight, and thinking about his father. "The usual option is pretty out of the question, in my opinion."

Puck spoke up, with more curiosity than fear. "What's... the usual option?"

"Well, our family stays a lot with either of our uncles, as much as we're on the road. We get caught breaking rules, Dad leaves it up to the head of the household, usually, to decide the consequences. I'm thinking this isn't something that I'm too keen on going to Burt with... how about you?"

"Shit," Puck breathed. "No, that would be bad in _so _many ways."

Finn looked like he'd swallowed a ball of hair. "My mom wouldn't care much for it, either."

Dean looked the two boys up and down. You could have heard a pin drop, and both the boys were looking straight at him. "Times where our Dad doesn't need to know, I usually take care of things with Sammy," he said, piercing gaze trained on Finn.

Finn nodded, understanding. "He looks to you for guidance. It makes sense."

"Yes, I do," Sam said, looming up behind Dean. Puck flinched away from Sam's appearance in the doorway, the shame and embarrassment of what he'd done written clear on his face. Dean was the scary one, but Sam - there was a special quality about the younger man, they all knew it. Puck had crossed a line by spying on Sam.

Dean acknowledged his brother with a glance and a nod, raising his index finger, hidden by the fold of his arm from the boys, asking Sam to wait. "I handle things with Sam the same way our dad does. We don't do grounded, aren't too many privileges that can be taken away, we need to stay sharp so there isn't anything like being sent to bed without supper." He felt Sam's shoulder brush his gently as his brother mirrored Dean's pose. _Good; Sam was going to stay cool. _ He glanced back at Sam, and got a fractional nod from the kid, clear agreement.

"I take it we had a little... audience?" Sam asked, and his face... changed... as Finn and Puck looked at him. His handsome features looked like they were carved out of granite.

"I'm sorry," Puck blurted, and Finn quelled him with a look. "But it was fucking hot," he added, in a whisper barely loud enough to be heard.

But Dean clearly did. He took a half step forward, then nodded decisively. "Sammy, you want to tell these kids what kind of consequences that fuckups like this get in our house?"

Sam smirked - there was really no other word for it. "Sure, Dean." He let his gaze drift to Puck, looking the kid up and down. "Disrespectful little boys -" he began.

"I'm _not _a fucking little boy," Puck shot back, and Finn's hand darted out, equally fast, with a quick retort against his backside. Puck swore, earning a second swat from Finn, but he calmed right down, moving into a position of submission without question or resistance. Finn's arms went around him, restraining him, and Puck dropped still further into quiet obedience. Finn watched Sam and Dean to see how they'd take the exchange.

The Winchester brothers looked at each other with deliberation, and slowly back at the boys, taking the measure of the teenagers standing before them.

"That's _exactly_ what happens - only it's not on an ass protected by bluejeans, and it doesn't stop at a swat or two," Sam finished. He wasn't sure what Dean had in mind, but it was clear that his big brother preferred to handle the situation, especially given the emphatic nod that Dean had just given the kids.

"It's what I do, too," Finn replied. "When Puck or Kurt needs it." His eyes dropped momentarily to the floor. "I guess it's me who needs it now."

"Wait... what the fuck!" Puck looked up at Finn, startled out of his state of calm, then over to Dean. "You - you're not going to... not to _Finn?"_

Dean felt some pity for the kid, but shit. If Sam had pulled crap like that with Bobby and Ellen? Neither he nor his father would have hesitated, Sam would catch it from more than one of them - and Dean'd wind up on the receiving end of more than just a couple reminder swats from Dad.

"Sounds like Finn understands how it works," Dean said mildly, an eyebrow raised. "Finn?"

"No," Puck shouted, leaping to his feet, hands outstretched in front of Finn, like a soccer goalie blocking a scoring shot. "You - I'm not gonna let you take this for me, dude. I can take my own lumps. It's not - " The last few words came out in a clear whine. "It's not _fair."_

"Fair... I think you lost that option when you chose dishonesty," Sam suggested, glancing at Dean.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You let me know how you want to handle your boy, there, Finn."

Finn was one step ahead of him. "Puck - either you stay out of this, or I'm going to have Sam take you out of the room. What's it going to be?"

Puck's agony was evident on his face, and he worried his lip with his teeth almost to bleeding. "You can't make me - I'm staying with you," he said stubbornly.

Sam stepped forward, and his big hand wrapped gently but firmly around Puck's bicep.

"Finn? It's your decision," he said quietly, and Dean nodded.

"I think he should see all the consequences to his actions," Finn said. "I'd rather he stay here, where he can watch."

Sam's grip tightened a little, and he drew Puck towards him, figuring he'd have to restrain the kid at some point.

"_No!" _ Puck twisted away, lunging away from Sam, though he didn't get very far. Finn grabbed his wrists and delivered him, struggling and swearing, to Dean.

Dean stepped up next to Finn to murmur quietly in the boy's ear. "We've got cuffs in our gear," he said quietly, "if you'd rather."

Finn nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly, and Sam and Dean disappeared into the bathroom. Puck was continuing to struggle, and Finn renewed his grip, snugging his arms closer against his body. He could feel Puck's heartbeat racing in his neck, his breath coming too fast. "It's okay," he soothed. "I'm going to be fine. This is what needs to happen."

"No," Puck whimpered. "It's my fault. I should take it. Not... _you!"_ His voice was anguished, and Finn steeled his heart against it.

"I'm a big boy, too," Finn said, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Don't worry. I'm going to take care of it. But you need to see there are consequences to your actions."

"I knew there would be," Puck said, hanging his head. "I just - I didn't think anyone else but me would have to answer for them."

"You're not the only person affected here," Finn pointed out, holding him close. Puck had stopped struggling now, and it was more like an embrace than a restraint. "I love you. Don't forget it. I'm doing this because I'm here to take care of you."

"Fuck, man," Puck said, his voice broken. "You don't deserve this."

"It's what I signed on for." He planted a quick kiss on Puck's cheek. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

* * *

><p>Dean crouched in front of the leather bag, fishing for a little-used set of leather cuffs, a set that was too small to be comfortable for Sam, and too big to work well with Dean's Houdini-like skills. Neither of them liked the fact that they were linked together, and required a key to lock and unlock. The stiff leather came to his hands after a moment and he stood. Sam was just within sight, and he cleared his throat slightly, holding up the cuffs. Sam's glance met his, touched on the cuffs, and came back to Dean's gaze. His boy nodded definitely. They could do without that set, free up some room in the damn bag for something better. The kids might be able to use them - Sam's conversations with Kurt, and Dean's observations suggested that Finn was a practical, responsible kind of guy.<p>

He stood up, watching Sam. His partner was observing the boys, having stepped back to the doorway, allowing Finn to cope with the more volatile Puck, and he'd wait for Sam's indication to move in with the cuffs. He felt old, about to spank a teenager, for the first time in years. He'd thought when Sam made it into adulthood, at 21, that he wouldn't have to suffer any more teenage angst over his knee, but apparently he was wrong. He half grimaced to himself. _Tess is gonna fuckin' love this,_ he thought, and that changed his demeanor slightly. She'd expect him to care for Finn the way he would for Sam, and he steeled himself.

Sam met his eyes, and something in his gaze let Dean relax. There was business to be taken care of, and it was gonna get accomplished. Sam gave a nod, listening to the conversation between the two boys, and Dean stepped out, cuffs and keys in hand. He quietly offered the set to Finn.

Finn took the keys in one hand and the cuffs in the other, handling them with perplexed, careful movements, as though he wasn't quite sure how they fit together. He swallowed, then unlocked them and slipped one cuff around Puck's wrist, buckling it shut. He slipped the key into his jeans pocket. "Put your arm up here," he said, tugging Puck's unwilling limb around the wrought-iron frame of Kurt's four-poster. "This'll be just the right height. You can be right here, and see the whole thing."

Puck was barely responding at this point, the cuffs and the whole scenario sending him deeper into subspace, but he climbed onto the foot of the bed and waited patiently while Finn connected his wrists together in the other loop of the cuffs. When he was done, Puck was crouched in a kneeling position, his back bent, head curled into himself. He wouldn't look at Finn, but Finn knew he _could,_ and that was enough.

He leaned in to speak directly in Puck's ear, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. "I'll be right here, but I won't be able to do anything to help you, okay? You'll need to ask - Sam?" He looked to the taller man for confirmation. "Ask Sam if you need anything. Nod if you understand."

Puck's head moved once, up and down, and was still.

Sam had tried not to wince through the whole proceeding, watching the painful scene unfold before him. He was ready for Finn to ask for help, aware that the younger boy would probably look to him first. The boy was a natural, and suddenly he was repressing a smile. Tess would love these kids. He'd wait to see if the cocky young sub _did _ask, and Sam's attention would damn well be on young Puck, and not the spanking that Finn was about to receive.

The Winchesters watched the scene dispassionately. Finn was caring for the young sub appropriately, and Dean bided his time, watching Finn run a loving, regretful hand along Puck's scalp, and then turn to face Dean, resolute and solemn.

Dean snapped his fingers. "Finn. Here," he said, twisting the desk chair out to face the room, and seating himself. He didn't intend to use anything other than his hand, knowing it would intimidate Puck, and also that Finn wouldn't pay an overly high price for his responsibility.

"Drop 'em, kid," Dean's gruff voice said.

Finn gulped and started to undo the zipper of his jeans, but it stuck a little and he wrestled with it for too many seconds. "Sorry - just a sec..."

Dean shook his head, and tucked his fingers into the waistband of Finn's jeans, pulling him closer, and reaching for the zip himself. He lowered it without issue, the gulp that Finn made letting him know that the damn thing really had been stuck. "Takes the button, too, kid," he suggested, waiting patiently.

Finn took several deep breaths, trying to remember what it felt to be on the giving end of this whole scenario, and realized he'd completely skipped undoing the button on his Levis. He colored, and this time was able to get the fly down. He didn't want to think too hard about how it had felt to have Dean's big hands on his zipper. He inched the jeans down around his hips, then lower. "The... rest, too?" he asked, agonized.

"I'll take care of that in a minute," Dean said gruffly, remembering clearly that Dad had never stripped their shorts off until they were over his knee, preserving their modesty. "Here," he said, lightly gripping Finn's muscled bicep, and guiding the kid down over his lap. Dean remembered something that Bobby often said, and thought maybe Finn would do better with a task at hand.

"Hands on the floor, and on your toes, kid," came the quiet order. He waited while Finn complied, then hooked his thumbs into the kid's shorts, and stripped them downward.

Finn heard Puck make a low noise that might have been a moan in a different circumstance, but as it was, it just sounded scared. It gave Finn courage, to know he was there for a reason, that this wasn't something he... wanted. _No. Not at all._ He gritted his teeth. "Okay," he said softly, and he was pleased to note his voice did not crack.

Sam tentatively approached the young man in cuffs, and rested a calming hand on Puck's shoulder. Puck flinched away at first, but as Sam's hands became familiar, he leaned into them, taking comfort where it could be found. Sam eased down on the bed behind the kid, careful to keep only his hand in contact, until Puck indicated that he needed more than just that tentative comfort.

"Good," Dean said. "Remind me, Finn, how old are you?"

"I'm eighteen, as of last month," he replied.

"Sounds about right," Dean said cryptically, and then Finn felt the first crack of the hardened palm on his bare ass.

Finn held onto the idea _I will not cry_ for about five seconds, after which he felt the blazing begin, and the idea was obliterated in the shock of a whole new idea: _Holy hell, that was his HAND?_

Dean had steeled himself. Eighteen wouldn't be difficult at all to deal out, that was a standard, realized punishment, and he'd dole them out slowly. He wasn't pleased to be handing it out to the young Top, but he was well aware that his strength was more measured, calculating, this way. Each time his callused hand fell, it was angled to produce the maximum burn on young Finn's backside, and given the way that the kid was flinching, it was to excellent effect.

Finn realized there were sounds coming out of his mouth, sounds he didn't realize he was capable of making, high-pitched and gasping, and as the blows continued for longer than he thought possible, he struggled to rein them in. But pretty soon it became evident that Dean wasn't going to let up until he cracked, and that somehow made it easier to let loose with a full-fledged holler. He heard Puck respond in sympathetic misery. He wished he could tell him somehow that it was okay, that he was all right - and actually, it was feeling better, he thought he could tolerate it now, as the endorphins kicked in. _Oh,_ he thought with detached incredulity, through the haze of rushing blood in his head. _That's - wow. Is that what he feels every time?_

Sam moved in closer, an arm around the recalcitrant Puck, smiling sympathetically when the kid leaned into him. And then there was a noise from the doorway.

"Finn, what - oh. Oh … _my god." _

Finn's heart dropped as he realized what Kurt must be seeing - Sam, standing there beside Puck in restraints (and that, alone, would be enough to send Kurt in paroxysms of rage), and Dean, with his hand lighting up Finn's backside like a Christmas tree. _Baby,_ he wanted to say, but all he could do was moan.

"Sam," Dean said quietly, and the younger Winchester moved to the doorway to gather Kurt into the fold of his big arm.

"Right here, Kurt. Puck needs you," Sam said softly. He looked up at Dean, hoping that he could communicate to his brother that Dean needed to pause here, to make sure they didn't create a crisis between the young lovers.

"What the hell is going on here?" Kurt said, and Finn thought Kurt might have actually stamped his foot, but he couldn't be sure, since he was currently swimming in a pool of pain and embarrassment and... other things he wasn't going to name.

Sam swung Kurt onto the bed to prevent any further outbursts, knowing perfectly well what would irritate the fuck out of Dean. Who hadn't been holding back on the spanking he'd been giving Finn, and didn't need a reason to intensify it, in Sam's opinion.

"Finn," Dean's deep voice suggested. "Maybe you want to tell Kurt why you're being spanked?" He rested his hot hand on the small of Finn's back, knowing from experience that the pressure would be reassuring.

Finn cleared his throat enough to make a noise that approximated speech, suddenly very aware of Dean's hand, and trying not to make any kind of motion with his hips. For one thing, he didn't need any additional friction, and for another, he really wasn't sure how Dean would take it. "I'm - taking responsibility for Puck's actions. I think you know what happened."

"Sweetheart," Kurt said, his attention torn between the kneeling figure on the bed and the other, lying prone upon Dean's lap.

Dean knew exactly what was going on in Finn's head, and simply increased the pressure on the boy's back. At Finn's age, the kid would be hair triggered, and he knew damn fucking well how that felt. He steeled himself to hide the evidence if the worst happened.

"Sit down, Kurt," Sam said softly. "Puck needs you," he suggested.

This gave Kurt impetus to move, and he finally curled himself around Puck's shaking form.

Sam rested his bulk softly on the bed, a hand on each of the distressed young boys. He hushed them quietly, and when a moment went by without any objection from the two teens, he nodded at his big brother.

"That was thirteen, Finn. I want you counting for the rest. Agreed?" His language was direct, asking for acquiescence rather than obedience, putting the two of them on more even ground than he'd have given Sammy.

Finn sniffled, not sure if he should bring a hand up to wipe his own snotty nose. "I got it."

"Good man," Dean said, voice rich with his approval. He brought his hand down five times more, measured, giving Finn time for response.

"Fourteen... fifteen... s-sixteen," Finn counted, finding comfort in the rhythm of each swing and slap, and heard his own voice grow stronger, more calm and confident. He was sure the endorphins weren't hurting, either. "Seventeen."

Dean steeled himself, appreciating the teenager's calm, and brought the last smack down, an almighty criticism painted in scarlet on Finnegan's behind.

"Oh - " Finn faltered. _God - no. Not the mailman. Please, god, don't let me -_

Dean's hand pressed down hard on what must be burning flesh, though it wasn't a nineteenth swat.

"What was that, Finn?" His voice was hard.

Dean's hand felt like a brand on his behind. Finn could feel each finger, splayed out against the hot, abraded skin. He wasn't sure what Dean was asking for at first - he felt a sense of panic he'd never experienced before, but it was only momentary. He took a final, measured breath. "Eighteen."

"Right," Dean said, and hauled Finn upright, standing with the kid so that Finn's scarlet backside was to the two boys. "CORNER," he said, a fierceness entering into his tone, despite his worry that Sammy wouldn't get it, and give the game away. He strong-armed Finn into the corner, well aware of the burgeoning erection. It was a moment's work to park Finn's nose flat in the corner with an audible order to leave it there and not move, despite the fact that Finn was fidgeting in place. Dean didn't intend to object to the involuntary movements.

"Are you done with him now?" Kurt's wounded tone was clear, and he stroked Puck's back with practiced care as he glared across the room at Dean.

"Shhh," Sam soothed. "It's all over, Kurt. It's ok. Finn took the punishment, it's all over." His large hand rested warm on Puck's back, even as he gently stroked the young switch's neck and shoulders. Kurt resisted at first, but he was not immune to Sam's gentle kindness, and he knew exactly how it felt to be on the receiving end of such a spanking. It was not the worst thing in the world.

Puck was face down, sobbing on the bed, and Kurt realized it was what Puck needed, to feel alone, isolated, shocked enough to sob out his distress, and he let himself lean into Sam for a moment.

"You're okay," Sam's deep voice resonated, into not just Kurt, but Puck as well. "It's all right, it's over. You are _forgiven," _he said, and hoped that the word made sense to the two teenagers. From the shuddering breath that Kurt let out, he thought it had hit the mark.

Finn faced into the corner, face as raw and burning as his behind. He felt Dean lean against the wall to his left, and tried to turn his face away, though his sense of responsibility wouldn't quite let him do it. He didn't like that Dean could see him like - like _this._ To know he'd - _liked _it. _What does that mean about me?_ he thought miserably. _I'm supposed to be taking a punishment, not getting off on Dean's hands on me. _

"It's perfectly natural," came Dean's voice, in a subtone that Finn recognized instinctively, a tone that wouldn't carry further than the two of them. "You're turned on, I get it. It's not wrong, Finn. It's fine. It doesn't mean you're attracted to me, not in the least. It's just the spanking, Finn. Puck and Kurt are both paying attention to Sam right now," he said, watching Finn's glance dart up, to ascertain Dean's position, which had the subordinate teens and Sam well within his view. Dean was parked casually on the wall, and there was no way that Puck or Finn would be able to tell-

"You're probably about to come," Dean said casually. "And I'm not fucking watching, because that's all your business. All I'm gonna do, Finn, is hand you a wad of kleenex, and in five minutes, I'm gonna order you to haul your pants up and cope with your boys. Then I'm gonna take Sam right the fuck out of the room. You need help, you come get us. Either of us," he added.

Finn blinked, taking in the meaning of Dean's words, and felt a rush of admiration and respect for the older man. "You mean that?" he blurted, though his tone was soft, wouldn't carry. "I'm really sorry about this."

"Nothing to be sorry about. You're a man, Finn. The equipment comes standard, works the same way." He passed over the wad of Kleenex. He always pocketed a handful, usually the tissue was used for mopping up Sam's tears, but this was an equally valid use for them, in his opinion.

Finn's hands closed over the ball of tissue, and he felt Dean's kind fingers squeeze his, just once, and then he turned his face away. The images in his mind were ones he would never share with anyone, but it only took a few seconds to go from aching hardness to shuddering release once he put his hands on himself. He was able to maintain a consistent level of breathy panting, equivalent to what he'd already been emitting, and he didn't think - he didn't _think - _any of the others could tell what had really happened. _Jesus Christ,_ he thought, his head reeling, dizzy with the rush of the spanking and the sudden, gut-twisting orgasm. He shivered with an aftershock.

"Jeans up, Finn," Dean barked a few moments later, noting from his position that Sam and the two subs jumped at the noise. Finn's obedience to the order was immediate. Dean grasped Finn by the bicep.

"Anything like that happens again, and it ain't gonna be just your ass on the line," Dean said, the menace in his tone unmistakable.

"Understood," Finn said in a matching tone, fervent and clear, but in no way backing down from the challenge. "I'll be sure Puck understands, too."

Dean smirked. If that wasn't promise of a followup spanking or two, he didn't know what the hell it was. It suited him just fucking fine, and Sam was nodding at him as well. His baby brother had hearing that would rival a bat's, so they'd know if Finn provided followup. At the moment the two teenagers that Finn was claiming were sniffling too hard to be able to hear anything of the exchange between Finn and himself.

He was silent, listening to Sam reassure the two, emphasizing that either Kurt or Puck could come get him, and not answer to Dean in any way, unless it was a simple apology for the interruption.

Finn glanced at Dean, the worry for his boys filtering through his haze. He didn't like the color of Puck's skin, and Kurt was going to need to get pissy for a little while before he would be satisfied, he could tell. "Can I take care of them now?"

"Yes," Dean said simply. "Sam and I are gonna lay down next door," he said suggestively, though too quietly for the rest of the room. "Both of us are gonna be pretty tired, and I want to make sure Sam's resting, and calm," he said conversationally, Top to Top, despite the fact that he'd just smacked Finn's bottom to brilliance.

"Thanks," Finn replied, and he meant it. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate to offer to shake Dean's hand, considering the wad of Kleenex he currently concealed within his own, so he just nodded and gave him a little smile.

"Good man," Dean said, a hand on his shoulder just briefly. "SAM!"

Sam stood, despite himself, at the order. Kurt had a good hold on Puck, so he wasn't too worried, and Finn had the damn cuff key - the kids could work it out from here, and they'd be next door if there were any crises.

Finn's eyes went from friendly to stern as soon as he turned back to the boys on the bed, and regardless of how much his backside burned, he was _not_ going to let them feel anything less than loved and forgiven. What he had done, it had to count for something, and he stood by that. "Kurt," he said, pulling the boy into his arms, and Kurt fell upon his chest, letting the angry, hot tears flow.

"You're okay?" Kurt said anxiously, his hand coming down to rest on Finn's jeans. Finn's arms tightened around Kurt, and he let Kurt hear the disapproval in his voice.

"You knew exactly what was going on, and you didn't do anything to stop it?"

"I - what could I do, Finn?" Kurt was taken aback. Puck raised red and streaming eyes to watch them, wiping his nose on his arm as best he could, and Kurt quickly took a tissue from the box by his bed and let Puck blow his nose. "There wasn't much I could do from where I was, was there?"

"You could have told me right away," Finn said, pulling the key from his pocket and unlocking the cuffs from Puck's wrists. They weren't bleeding, but Finn could see there were slight bruises starting where Puck had pulled at the restraints. He felt an unreasonable surge of anger at the cuffs for hurting his boy, and he tossed them to the floor before turning back to Kurt. "_You_ didn't do anything of the sort. _You_ went along with it."

Kurt's brow dipped obstinately, but one glance at Puck was enough to drive him to apology. "I'm - I'm sorry. It was... well. I could blame it on Rachel and Mr. Schue, but..."

"It was my fault," Puck said, quietly. It was the first sound he'd made other than sobs in the last half hour, and his voice was hoarse and stricken. "I'm not going to forget this."

Finn could see that Puck meant it, but he could also see in his face something he recognized, something he thought Puck might take very personally. He knelt down to put his face even with Puck's and made him look at him. "You - here, on the bed. The cuffs." He put a hand on Puck's cheek, and Puck tried to pull away, but could not. "You liked this. And it's _okay._ There's nothing wrong with you. It's just part of who you are. You know we love you for it."

"We do, sweetheart," Kurt said, his hands on Puck's shoulders, squeezing away the tension.

Puck's head came up a little higher, and he sat, rubbing his wrists absently. "I'm not sure what to do about it," he admitted. "It was - well. It freaked me out, but... you're right." He turned his head to the blue patterned duvet cover on Kurt's bed. "I did... fuck, Finn, I liked it."

Finn hauled his face around to look right at him, and then he kissed him thoroughly, feeling Puck settle under the pressure of his mouth. "You're a good boy," he said, and he felt Puck shudder under the impact his words made. "I know you are. You make bad decisions sometimes. But you know what you need to take care of yourself. That's my job." He cupped Puck's cheek and gazed into his hazel eyes. "You gave me that responsibility. I take it seriously. It's the most important job I'll ever have."

"God, Finn," Puck choked, turning red under his regard, but Finn wouldn't let him look away.

"I love you more than I care about a couple swats on my backside." He nodded at Puck's questioning look. "_Yeah,_ it really hurt. And maybe now I understand what you guys go through all the time. Maybe I get it a little better now. That's good, too, right?"

"Right," Kurt said, looking at Finn with relief.

Finn's eyes landed on Kurt. "And that doesn't change the fact that you're due a spanking too."

Kurt's own gaze flickered away. "Yes... I know. I'm sorry."

"We'll do it the way we always handle it, baby," he said, his hand gentle on Kurt's, helping him take down his stylish skinny jeans. "Together."

* * *

><p>In the next bedroom over, Dean pulled back the covers of the bed sternly, gesturing to Sam. His lover nodded quietly, jerking his head at the bathroom. Dean nodded, giving permission for the younger boy to relieve himself, the order to return without delay implicit in their longstanding relationship. Sam slid back into the bed scant moments later, and Dean's arms wrapped around Sam's shoulders.<p>

"It's okay, Sammy," he said, voice hoarse and quiet with emotion. "No different than Tess did with us, in the beginning. You did good, baby," he said, nearly choking. He hadn't wanted to spank the Hudson kid, and his palm burned with guilt.

"I love you," Sam said, and didn't interfere with the strong arm that Dean had wrapped around him, just brought the opposite, heated palm to his lips, and kissed it gently. "Do you think Finn'll spank them?"

"Do you want him to?"

Sam hesitated. "Yes," he said simply.


	9. Digging Up Dirt, Prompt 40, Moresome

_(Author's note: This is the plotbunny of supergreak, who has written a lovely Brittania entitled The Gleeful Gardener, in which Brittany grows plants of all kinds. She thought it would just make sense for her Britt to provide herbs for my Puck. Then the plotbunnies started flying, and... well, here we are. I must thank her for excellent inspiration of the Santana variety, as well as great good humor. Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

><p>This weed was <em>stuck<em>. Brittany adjusted her glove, grabbed the base of the plant, reached down and yanked. The weed came up, and she fell on her butt right as her phone vibrated. She pushed herself to her feet, answering the phone as she dropped the four-foot weed in the barrel with a sigh.

"Hey, Puck!"

"Do you have fresh basil ready in that greenhouse I built you?"

She scoffed. "Is Lord Tubbington an Internet superstar? Of _course_ I have basil. Three varieties of basil, and you _know_ that."

"Good, 'cause I'm at the grocery store, and all their fresh herbs are wilting."

Brittany straightened her hat and knelt back down, tucking her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she reached for the next waist-high weed. "What are you cooking, Puck? You know I won't allow you to use my choice herbs with sub-par ingredients. Is this Thanksgiving dinner?"

Puck laughed in her ear. "You offering produce, babe? No, it's just regular dinner tonight. I'm doing chicken with caramelized onions in a spicy peach sauce with slices and basil as garnish, served on top of fettuccine. I'm roasting stuffed bell peppers-"

"Red?"

"Of course - for the appetizer. And I was thinking comfort food for dessert."

"Apples are in season, and I've got tons. Do a crisp?"

"Perfect. I owe you one."

"You owe me a serving of whatever you make. How many are you cooking for? I need to pick you a peck of peppers. Not pickled."

He hesitated. "Um, well, the three of us, plus Sarah, two parental units, and extras for you, that's seven. And I'm using the Hummel's kitchen, 'cause it's bigger than mine at home."

Brittany smiled. _The three of us_ wasn't vague at all, plus two parental units definitely didn't mean _his _two parents, since his dad hadn't been in the picture since Puck was nine. And a bigger kitchen was a lame excuse; Puck could cook gourmet on a camp stove. She'd seen him in action. This smelled like a mystery. "I'll be there in a few," she said with a smirk, and hung up.

She jammed the phone back in her pocket, dumping the barrel of weeds into a compost bin before hopping over the back fence into her own yard, grabbing her garden scissors and a basket. An hour later, she knocked on Kurt's front door. Puck met her at the door, his _Mr. Good Lookin' Is Cookin' _apron dusted with flour. He grinned when he saw her, taking the large cardboard box from her arms. She pecked his cheek and breezed past him to the kitchen, grabbing Kurt's blue apron off the pantry door. When they were eleven, they'd sewed aprons together on Mom's sewing machine, and she _loved_ that Kurt still wore his.

"So, what do you need me to do?" she asked, tying the apron behind her as Puck set the box down on the counter.

Puck raised an eyebrow, but passed over the hand-labelled jar of this year's peach preserves. "Dude; I don't _let _anyone else help."

"You're going to let me," said Brittany. "Or I take my awesome produce and go home."

He made a face, but acquiesced. "All right. You make the sauce while I start the chicken and onions."

Brittany took the jar and a bowl from the dish rack while glancing around the room. Over on the couch, there was Finn's jacket. But that was normal, because Burt and Carole were totally dating. Finn was probably over all the time. Puck had a hickey almost covered by the collar of his t-shirt, but the cougars didn't leave marks, and Santana preferred to mark the other side. Plus, she said he wasn't putting out this year, so she came over to Brittany's house more. _Score_. Add in the three pairs of Puck's shoes by the door and the fact that this was at Kurt's house... _oh, yeah. They're totally dating. Santana was right! I thought that was a mono-induced dream. _

"_I_ know your _secret!" _ she teased.

Puck looked up in shock before noticeably trying to relax. "What secret?"

"You're _totally_ doing Kurt." She grinned at his expression. "Ha! I'm right!"

"Right about what?" Finn said from the doorway.

"Puck's gettin' it on with Kurt," She repeated before her eyes went wide. "Oh, shoot, I forgot that gay secrets aren't the kind for spreading, because even though everyone thinks it's hot that Santana and I are doing it, people are stupid when there aren't any boobs involved. Sorry, Puck." She looked between the boys. "You aren't going to beat him up now, are you?" she asked Finn worriedly. "Cause, like, I still think that Puck could take you."

Finn smiled comfortingly. Those smiles from Finn were like hugs from San, only with less boob action. "It's okay, Brittany. I already knew. In fact..." He and Puck did that eye-talking thing that she and Santana always did during English class. Santana could do _sonnets_ in eye-talk.

"It's all three of us dating together," he said finally. "Me and Puck and Kurt."

"Wow, that's hot," was the first thing out of her mouth. _Seriously, just... wow. _"Okay, super cool. But your boyfriend's going to be home soon, and the food's still not done. Puck, go do the peppers and Finn, you peel those apples. I'll finish the fettuccine so you can eat sooner."

That got Puck back to work and Finn started peeling with only a mumbled "Toppy, aren't we?", which earned him a swat with a bar towel.

"Less sass, more peels, Hudson."

Once the apple crisp and peppers were in the oven, she gathered up her bags and baskets. Halfway out the back door, she turned around to face them. "So, Finn's totally gay, and now I owe Santana ten bucks. But Puck, you still like girls, right?"

He nodded.

"But you don't cheat, which means I don't get to make out with you anymore. Since you're, like, the second best kisser in the school, I think you owe me one last kiss as a consolation prize." Santana was the number one best kisser in the school, but Brittany didn't tell her that, because she got all weird whenever they talked about sweet lady kisses.

Puck shrugged and looked at Finn, who was clearly trying not to laugh. "Go ahead, dude. Fair's fair." He grinned. "Don't break him, Britt. I kind of like him."

She set down her things and reached for Puck's head, tugging him down as he slid his fingers through her hair, meeting in a soft, long kiss as the unused back door clicked shut again.

* * *

><p>Kurt dropped his messenger bag on the chair beside Finn, who was eating carrot sticks and looking across the kitchen. When he saw what was happening, Kurt's eyebrows slowly rose into his feathery bangs.<p>

He leaned over and whispered in Finn's ear, "Why is our boyfriend making out with Brittany?"

Finn grinned. "She totally guessed about us. She's pretty smart, you know."

Kurt ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Really. She and Santana - um. She said something that surprised me the other day, about kissing each other..."

"I think she's doing research?" Finn reached for another carrot stick. "Something about the best kisser at school?"

"Well, that would be you," said Kurt, and turned bright red when he realized what he'd said. Finn's slow smile kind of stopped his heart for a minute.

"Thanks, baby," he murmured. "But I think that's a matter of opinion." He glanced back at Puck, who was wrapping up his business with Britt, and gestured to them with a querying look. "This bother you?"

Kurt wrestled with the question for a few moment, running through several expressions, but finally settled on a thoughtful frown. "Noooo," he said doubtfully. "Not really. I mean, it's not any different from him making out with that boy at the club, is it?"

"Except that it's a girl," said Finn. "Any concerns about that?"

Kurt gave him a wry smile. "I can't really complain, can I? I'm the one who made out with Brittany, after all."

"You never told me about _that!"_ Finn looked both perplexed and impressed. He gestured at Kurt with the carrot stick. "Come on, spill. What happened?"

Kurt sank onto Finn's knee, hiding a red face behind one hand. "Suffice it to say I convinced myself that yes, I'm _really_ gay, and no, I _don't_ want girls, and I should _never, ever _sing Mellencamp."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that now." Finn paused, and crunched up the last carrot. "I don't know. I thought you were pretty hot."

"There's no accounting for taste," Kurt said, smiling, and leaned in for a carroty kiss.

* * *

><p>Kurt walked Brittany the block and a half to her house, squashing her into a hug on the sidewalk before pulling back to arms-length and looking seriously at her. "Brittany, you should know that Puck and Finn are dolphins, but they're undercover as sharks. Sharks are carnivores, you know, so if anyone knew about their disguises, they wouldn't be safe."<p>

Brittany tilted her head to the side. "So that's why Puck has a Mohawk! It's his shark fin for his costume?" Her face turned concerned. "But... Finn doesn't have a disguise! We should totally give him a Mohawk, too. Just so he's safe. We can do it while he's sleeping!"

Kurt bit back a smile, imagining himself and Brittany in cat-burglar outfits, which were eerily similar in his mind to their Single Ladies costumes. Sneaking in Finn's window, just for kicks, and shaving his head in the middle of the night. Sure, he'd get a spanking for that, but seeing Finn's face in the morning might just be worth it. Not to mention the looks at school. "That's really nice of you to think of him. But I think, since he's got a lady-shark for disguise, we don't have to worry so much about Finn. Plus, his name is a disguise all by !"

Brittany nodded wisely. "Quinn is totally a shark. She's even got the teeth for it. All straight and shiny, like that song about Mack the Knife. _Oh, she shines them, pearly white!_"

"Let's never tell her that." Kurt said when he'd stopped giggling. "We might end up as the smaller fish. But, um, do you get it?"

Brittany smiled. "Their secrets are totally safe with me. Safe as Santana's toy box under her bed. Thanks for having me for dinner. I'll see you on Monday?"

* * *

><p>"This is Sarah's favorite color," said Puck, waving the bottle of Really Red nail polish. He shook it vigorously and hunched over Brittany's foot, squinting at her little toe. "Sorry. Kurt says I'm not so good at the small ones. I'll try not to get it on your quilt."<p>

Brittany passed him a tissue. "Put this under. You can use it to fix your mistakes."

He grinned up at the girls. "So what did you want to tell me?"

Santana looked at Brittany and smirked. "Well, last night, we were talking about you, and your boys. And we had some... ideas."

Brittany nodded seriously. "I think it's tragic that you've never sung to Kurt in front of Glee before, and you need to show him you love him in front of everybody. Not just Glee. The whole school. Sing the most loving song we know! _I love you, you love me..."_

Santana bit her lip. "I think the cafeteria would be perfect, don't you?"

"I think you guys are smoking something," he snorted. "No way in hell am I going to do that. Kurt is totally freaked out about the idea of me being out." He paused. "Besides, I think Kurt hates Barney more than I do. He's more a Teletubbies guy."

"Of course, if you're too scared..." Santana grinned at him, raising an eyebrow.

Puck crossed his arms across his chest and raised his own eyebrow right back. "Just because I'm doing dudes doesn't mean I'm not a badass."

"I think you're just chicken," Brittany said. "But you know the consequences of backing down from a dare, don't you?"

"Um...?" Puck looked half nervous and half intrigued. "Maybe?"

"Well, you know, just like in truth or dare. You have to take the forfeit dare, and there isn't any backing down from that one."

"Who comes up with these fucking rules, anyway?" Puck muttered.

"Cheerleaders!" Brittany said cheerfully. "We have lots of fun at camp. Remember, Santana, that time we had to streak, all the way to the ranger station?"

"I would have paid to see that," he said, smirking, but he sighed and settled down on the bed. "All right. What do I have to do?"

Santana looked at him like a panther that'd just caught some farmer's sheep. Or maybe a deer- no easy prey for this hunter. "_You_ have to let us watch you. All three of you. Together. Actually doing it, none of this 'chaste kiss' business."

Puck crinkled his eyebrows. "Not a problem from my end, but... you think _Kurt's_ going to be okay with this _why?"_

"Convincing him is _your_ problem, not ours." Santana leaned back against the headboard.

"Man, you don't aim low, do you?" He considered, fiddling with the nail file. "Well, Kurt has a weakness for tequila. Two margaritas and I can get him to play video games with Mercedes. I think that might be our best route... except if Finn thinks I'm taking advantage of him, he's going to kick my... uh." He glanced at Santana. "I'll work on it."

Santana looked up from inspecting her nails. "You do that."

* * *

><p>Puck was surprisingly smooth about introducing the idea to Finn. Finn was usually pretty good at <em>not<em> reacting to Puck's crazy plans until he'd had a chance to think about it, but this one came at him like a sneak attack. He managed not to inhale his Mountain Dew, then spent several seconds regarding his sneakers, neither laughing nor snapping at Puck.

"Um, run that by me again? Santana wants us to _what_?"

Puck explained a second time, stumbling over the words.

Finn took a deep breath. And then counted to ten. In Spanish. He'd count higher, but he could usually only remember up to fifteen. "Dude," he sighed, finally. "What were you _thinking?"_

"I didn't know what else to do, man," Puck protested. "It was either that or sing Kurt a fucking song in the middle of the cafeteria."

_Yes, and what got you there to begin with...? Never mind._ "Don't think you're off the hook for getting us into this. I'll deal with that later." He stared hard at Puck, who gulped. "But since you did, and I won't tell you to back down from a double-dog dare, let's figure this out."

"Okay," Puck said, looking relieved.

He leaned back, twiddling his pencil. "So, we've tried, like, a _lot_ of new things since getting together, right? So let's present this to Kurt as, just, something new we're trying. Mark it off our lists, see if we like it. You've got a little thing for showing off, Britt and San are relatively safe to show off in front of, we can trust them, and set some ground rules. No touching, no cameras, no mentioning it after the fact."

Puck nodded, mostly to himself. "I think they'd agree to that."

"They'd better, or we aren't doing this. And Kurt can set further ground rules, if he wants. So Kurt and I will indulge your little exhibitionist streak- you can tell him about the dare, or not- but in exchange, we'll owe him one unspecified future sexual favor. He wants to try something new, you're embarrassed, we have to indulge him. Bottoming to him for a week or wearing our football uniforms or being his fashion dummies or whatever. Even if it means dressing up like Lady Gaga in front of the entire school. You understand?"

"Dude," Puck said, stroking his jaw doubtfully. "You don't think he'd make us do that, do you?"

"I wouldn't put it past Kurt," Finn said grimly. "I'll work out the details. You set things up with Brittany and Santana. We'll be there."

* * *

><p>Jacob Ben-Israel smelled a good story. Puckerman had sidled up to She-Devil and Blondie in the hall after school, whispering in Santana's ear as he grabbed Brittany's ass, which just earned him a giggle and and a lean into his arm as the three of them walked outside. With some quick maneuvering and a dive into the bushes, he got the perfect vantage point to see the girls push Puck against the wall.<p>

"So, are we on for tonight? Britt and I, we'll be at her house at seven."

"Only question is, will you and all your business be there? Me and Santana need some action tonight, and it's a good deal for you. Two for one, just like a shoe sale."

"Only question is, Puckerman, are you man enough to handle it?"

Puck grinned, wrapping his arms around them. "Ladies, we are _on_. Now, may I escort you to practice?"

Jacob turned his camera around as they walked away, checking to make sure he caught every moment. _Score._

* * *

><p><strong>BREAKING NEWS!<strong>

**jewfro. blogspot. com**

_Rachel Berry surpasses Kurt Hummel in this year's slushie race! Full story here._

_Quinn Fabray's baby is actually triplets!_

_More on last week's rumors about a steamy affair between Principal Figgins and former glee coach Sandy "boy-lover" Ryerson here._

_And today's top story, Puckerman's scoring with not one, but two of McKinley's hottest babes! Together! This takes BOGO to all new levels, and I'm not talking about buy one, get one. Video. Transcript. Full story, including reactions from the Puckerman, Pierce, and Lopez, Queen of Gossip Mercedes Jones, and Puckerman's one-time crush, Quinn Fabray here. Further details forthcoming!_

* * *

><p>When Jacob asked her about the alleged threesome between Puck, Santana, and Brittany, Mercedes just barely schooled her face into a chuckle and "That's not hard to believe." Seriously, that was <em>not<em> the threesome rumor she expected to hear about regarding Puck. Once Jacob was safely around the corner, she slipped into the bathroom- the broken one in the E wing that no one ever used. "Boy, you would _not_ believe what Jacob just asked me."

"Well, I guess_ that_ secures the closet door," Kurt murmured to himself before looking up from his phone at Puck. "Sweetheart, you've got to read this." He passed the phone to Puck.

Puck squinted at the screen, then broke into surprised snorts of laughter. "Holy shit - that's fucking _perfect._ Remind me to bake Jacob a cake."

"Mercedes was kind of in awe about the whole idea." Kurt brushed infinitesimal specks of dust off his shirt. "I think she's wondering when you get _any_ sleep."

"Babe, sleep is for the weak." Puck smirked. "The Puckster can handle anything."

"Mmm," said Kurt, placing both hands on Puck's broad shoulders. "How about you handle this?"

* * *

><p>As expected, it all started a little... awkwardly. They hadn't put it past Jacob to stake out Brittany's house, so Finn and Kurt got there early, through the back yard, while Puck and Santana showily arrived, complete with three-way kisses on the front porch. Those, Santana knew, would never <em>not<em> be complicated and inherently dangerous. Too many noses, not enough room.

When they got up to Brittany's room, Finn was sitting at her desk, fiddling with her collection of china cats. He smiled easily at Britt and Santana, but Kurt looked like he might explode at any moment, and not in a good way.

"I'll have you know I'm here under duress," he said immediately.

"Oh, don't worry, Kurt," said Britt. "I'm not wearing a dress."

Puck approached Kurt as one might calm a skittish horse, putting a hand on his shoulder. Kurt looked like he was chewing on something unpleasant, but under Puck's hand he let out a sigh and relaxed a fraction. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered.

"Come on, Kurt," Santana cajoled, settling into the most comfortable chair. "I know on the scale of gay, from one to ten, you're, like, a twenty-seven. But you made out with Britt, didn't you? The only one here who hasn't experienced your skinny bod is _me,_ and you can bet I'm not going to be staring at your boyparts. So relax. Just think of it as a learning experience. A sexual field trip."

"Baby," said Finn softly, and Kurt turned, gazing at him across the room. Finn held out one hand, and Kurt walked to him and took it. "Nobody's going to say anything to anyone about what goes on in this room. Right?" He raised an eyebrow at Santana.

"My lips are sealed," she promised, and Britt nodded, taking a seat beside Santana on the chair.

"See? It's going to be fine." He smiled at Kurt, and squeezed his hand. While Kurt grumbled and sighed, Finn leaned in and placed his lips on his cheek. "No big deal, okay?"

As Finn continued dropping kisses on Kurt's jaw and neck, Kurt sighed deeper, closing his eyes and relaxing into his touch. Britt leaned back, a smile playing on her lips. "I need a bowl of popcorn," she whispered. "Maybe some skittles. A whole bag of rainbows."

"Anything that turns you on," Puck said, grinning. "I'm all about tasting the rainbow."

"You did _not_ just say that," Kurt objected, eyes still closed. "I'm _trying_ to relax here." He shifted his shoulders as Finn's hands slipped under the hem of his shirt and began the long journey of divesting Kurt of his multiple layers of clothing.

"But orgasms are _very_ relaxing, Kurt! Most boys I know fall asleep after sex. Are boy on boy orgasms different, then? Does your penis have magic powers to make you stay awake? Cause that could be awesome."

Santana snorted. "But it wouldn't be awesome for you, sweetie. Only for other gay boys. No benefits for us."

"Au contraire," Puck said, kicking off his boots. "I thought the whole point of this thing was that you ladies wanted to watch us. I'd say that's a pretty major benefit. More orgasms, more fun for everybody."

"Whatever." Santana shrugged. "I don't care too much about the boy-on-boy. I'm here for Britt. Moral support, you know."

Finn considered her for a moment. "Is that right?" His voice had the tone of a challenge. "Puck. C'mere."

Puck hopped up from the floor and walked over to stand next to Finn, waiting. Finn gave Santana one more glance, then slid a hand behind Puck's neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss, with plenty of tongue. Kurt, on Finn's other side, let out his breath in a surprised puff. Puck, responding enthusiastically, moaned and bumped his hip into Finn's. When they were done, his cheeks were flushed and he looked a little shaken, but not displeased.

"How was that?" Finn said, with a smirk.

Brittany started to applaud, but after an elbow in the ribs from Santana, she zipped her lips and switched to sign-language applause.

"Okay, okay," Santana said, rolling her eyes, but her cheeks were a little on the flushed side, too. "Boy-on-boy, pretty hot."

"You're pretty. _And_ hot." Brittany said. "Kurt's pretty. Puck's pretty sometimes. Finn's hot, but I don't think he's very pretty. Sorry, Finn."

"No accounting for taste," muttered Puck.

Clothing came off quickly after that, mostly due to Puck's propensity for nakedness, and after a while it just felt _ridiculous_ to be the only one wearing something. Lord Tubbington was banished to his basket under Britt's bed after he tried to knead bread dough on Finn's thigh. There were equal parts sighs and moans from the boys and snide running commentary from Santana, along with surprised gasps and uncontrollable laughter from Britt.

Finally, Kurt turned around in a huff. "Darling, dearest. Brittany. If you don't stop giggling, I will never forget you're in the room and then I won't be able to keep it up and you will _never_ get your free show. There are caramels in my bag if you need to keep your mouth busy... just keep quiet, okay? Okay. Puck, get back to work; _your_ mouth needs to be busy, too."

Of course, this set Finn into a fit of hilarity, and Santana laughing, and it took them a few minutes to get back to business. As it was.

* * *

><p>Kurt stared at the paint on Brittany's ceiling, the swirls as familiar as those on his own. "I used to play here all the time when I was a kid," he said to Finn, resting his head on his chest. "We were best friends, me and Britt, and Santana and Noah were always around... Jesus." He tipped his head up. "I can't believe I forgot about that."<p>

"It was a long time ago," Finn said. "I mean, back then, me and Karofksy were practically best friends. Look how _that's _turned out."

"You remember Santana's birthday party? In third grade? It totally started pouring... and then that boy's father showed up and yelled at him in front of everybody..." Puck blinked, then shook his head before resting it back on Kurt's stomach. He sighed as Kurt's calming hand ran over his scalp. "I can barely remember, myself."

"So what happened to the girls?" Finn propped himself up on his elbows and glanced around the room. "They disappeared."

"They escaped to the bathroom," Puck said, smirking. "After you and Kurt, you know. The third time. Too much for them, I guess."

"I think we turned them on too much," Finn replied, and Kurt made a noise of disgusted protest. "What? That was the point, right?"

"I still have no idea what the point was," Kurt said. "All I know is, now I get _my_ favor."

"We don't have to do it _now... _do we?" Puck looked a little aghast. "Because even the Puckmeister runs out of rounds eventually."

* * *

><p>Two days later, Jacob Ben Israel opened his locker to find a small chocolate cake with his favorite frosting and sprinkles. Next to it, there was a note.<p>

_It's kosher. Also, not poisoned. _

_Thanks for the rep boost. I'll keep you in mind next time I need someone to leak the story about my bedroom activities._

_-Puckerman_


	10. Christmas at Tessera, 29, Submissive

_(Author's note: This is the mirror story for Bending in the Archer's Hand chapter #33, in which Davis and Carl travel down to Tessera for Christmas. _Here you get Davis' point of view on the trip. _Davis has been sorely in need of some love for a while, so we decided to give him some, or at least his own unique brand of pleasure. _

_In case you're behind in the Donutverse, Davis Lawton is Puck's lawyer, and Dr. Carl Howell's business partner in their BDSM consulting business._

_Warnings include but are not limited to (ready?): Dom/sub, discipline, spanking, oral and anal sex, biting, whipping and flogging. I won't call it a PWP, because it does have rather a lot of plot, but it's full of graphic consensual sexual acts between two men. Also dancing and romance, but who knew?_

_You have been warned, right? Right. Now go forth and enjoy. -amy and flinchflower)_

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

Tess wandered into the kitchen, warming herself by the cookstove, watching James bustle around the kitchen. He was with her a few moments later, having swiped a sheaf of papers off the shelf over his desk, and tromped over to her. She watched with a raised eyebrow, and accepted the papers silently.

"I don't want to hear about it," he grumbled. "I'm aware, we're taking care of it - the kid is sixteen next week. False papers, and all. Dammit."

Tess sighed. It happened occasionally, mostly with the restaurant, and the theatre, some of the dishwashers and runners in the theatre were awfully young. They didn't see anything untoward in the public part of Tessera, but overall, as an establishment that catered to a particular kind of clients, Tessera had to maintain higher standards than most.

"Talk to Jason," she said firmly, referring to the club's lawyer. She looked up at James, and stepped back so she didn't have to crane her neck so far. "And then get back with me."

"Sorry, Tess. What did you need?"

"One of my boys is coming by with his partner for Christmas," she said, looking thoughtful.

"Oh?"

"Jesse - well, he prefers Carl, now. His business partner, Davis, is apparently a legendary brat. It's been years since I've seen the man, though. I need some time to myself with Jesse." She appealed to him with her eyes. "Would you take Davis in hand for me? Jesse would worry less if he's pleasantly occupied. How is Sebastian doing? Will he perhaps be all right in the kitchen on his own?"

"I suppose so." His blue eyes grew contemplative for a moment. "He'll be fine, Lindsay's in as well. We've done all the planning, and _that_ has gone decently. And I wouldn't mind a screaming brat over my knee. Sure."

"Thank you, dear." She stretched a small hand far up to pull him down closer, so she could kiss his cheek. "Work the employee issue out with Jason. Don't make me Top you."

That finally made him laugh, the smile lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling, and she shook her head and stepped briskly towards the club floor.

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday<strong>

"You don't think I'm underdressed?" Davis said, glancing down at himself in amusement. He'd taken off the expensively tailored suit from his morning in court, in which he looked every bit the part of the high-powered prosecuting attorney, and exchanged it for a sweater and khakis.

"Definitely," Carl said, handing his jacket to the girl in the coatroom with a wan smile. "Hi, Jenny. How're things tonight?"

"Hopping, Carl," she said, smiling back. She looked over Davis with barely disguised appreciation. "Who's your friend?"

"I'm Davis," he said, leaning over and holding out his hand for her to shake.

"I'm charmed," she replied, eyes alight.

"He's gay," Carl said in a stage whisper, and she sighed in disappointment. "Really, really gay."

"Doesn't stop me from being a gentleman," Davis protested, as Carl ushered him through the second set of doors into the club proper. Carl choked on a laugh.

"You, a gentleman? Give me a break. Come on, I need to see Tess."

A kind face greeted them in the hall, holding a walkie-talkie and smiling. "Carl! It's good to see you."

"Stephen," Carl said, clasping his hand. "So good to be back here. It's been too long." He introduced him to Davis as Tess' majordomo, and Stephen offered him a friendly handshake.

"Let me take you to Tess," Stephen said easily. The first strains of music came down the hallway. Davis had been to just about every high-end BDSM and leather bar in every major city of the United States, and many of cities in other countries, but he was glad he had an opportunity to gawk with appreciation at the interior of Tessera. _This is incredible,_ he thought, _and with Tess at the helm, no wonder. _The older woman had been responsible for introducing Carl to the scene all those years ago, back when he'd been his own Top. Even though Carl was more of a friend than a lover these days, he felt lucky to have that tie to her through him, because Tessera was something of a legend.

Stephen led the men up the short set of steps into the dance hall, where a wide ring of people were swaying to a pulsing beat. Davis looked at the couple on the dance floor, and caught his breath. The man was _hot,_ and absolutely in line with Davis' type: tall - taller than Davis' own 6'1" - broad shouldered, and obviously well-muscled even through his black silk shirt. The tight black leather pants didn't leave anything to the imagination, and Davis' imagination was a fertile one.

When he managed to tear his eyes away from the man's tanned, smiling figure, he noticed he was leading a stunning woman in a flowing red dress through an absolutely _sinful_ Argentine tango.

Her dress whirled, revealing long, muscled legs that she didn't hesitate to fling about her partner at the appropriate turns and cues - their movements were sharp and coordinated, and he handled her as if she were no lighter than a feather. The man's rugged face always had a hint of a smile about it, even if it was stern, and hers was a mask of passion, intense and smoldering - and the faint hint of recognition finally came clear - that was Tess herself on the dance floor. _Amazing._

"Wow," he said quietly to Carl, who simply smiled back in return. They stood watching the rest of the number, and then listening to the applause. Tess' eyes lit on them, and a smile finally broke through her serious demeanor. She spoke quietly to her partner, and he nodded, taking her arm gently, and leading her over.

"Jesse! It's so good to see you, sweetheart," she said, clearly delighted, and her hot partner very gently transferred her hand to Carl's, who brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

"Yes, it is," Carl replied, and put a hand on Davis' back, drawing him forward. "You remember Davis, Tess."

"I'm pleased see you again, Davis," she said gravely.

"Mistress Tess," he said, bowing over her hand. "You don't look a day older than the last time I saw you - what was it, eleven years ago?" He gave her a sincere smile before turning his eyes toward Tall, Broad and Gorgeous beside her, letting them rest a little overly long on his muscled shoulders.

"Thank you," she replied, inclining her head gracefully. "Please let me introduce James Robins - James is the head chef for Chanterelle, our in-house restaurant."

"Is that right?" Davis murmured, offering his hand. "Head chef. Marvelous." He let his eyes twinkle at the big man, feeling his strong grasp with appreciation. "I do love to... eat." _Let's see what I can find out about him,_ he thought. "You know, I've been told that cooking food and presenting it beautifully is one of the most sincere acts of servitude."

The chef's blue eyes flashed a bit of steel, and Davis thought he loomed a little larger.

"Rosalind Coward," came the deep voice. "I consider fine food to be a privilege, myself."

"A privilege, indeed," Davis acknowledged, inclining his head. "I dare say, I think hard before I put anything in my mouth."

"If... thinking... were to be allowed," James said, nodding towards Carl.

Carl looked like he was trying to swallow a smile, but he managed to restrain himself. "Davis has full autonomy here," he said. Then he added, under his breath, but loud enough for all present company to hear, "He's fully capable of messing up on his own, believe me."

"Perhaps he would benefit from a tour... and a review of the club rules," James suggested, glancing now at Tess.

"Would you, James? I should like some time with Jesse, dear."

"I'd be delighted, Tess," came the deep rumbling answer. It made Davis' heart quiver a little, the sound resonating in his own chest.

"Perhaps a dance, before we begin the tour?" he offered, glancing up at James, not bothering to hide his interest.

That earned him a smile from the taller man. "Of course - do you waltz?" James asked.

Davis smiled, holding out one hand. "Three years of ballroom dance classes in prep school would say yes," he said, "but I'll leave it to you to decide."

The song shifted to something slow, and Davis wondered if it was routine, or if some subby DJ was paying close attention to the Tops in the room. James gently took the hand he'd offered, with a very slight bow, and led the way on to the dance floor.

Davis glanced surreptitiously back at Carl as he followed James' lead, and they shared a frantic silent exchange of looks: Davis' said _Oh, my god, he's so fucking hot, can you believe this? _and Carl's said _Go for it, man, you've been single for way too long._

Davis felt the man's strong hand at his back, even as the hand that James held was brought up into what he dimly remembered as a perfect frame, and he responded to the strong pressure, standing up a little straighter and firming his grip on the callused palm. James smiled down at him, and Davis felt his heart trip a little in anticipation, though his feet were steady, following the taller man's lead into the simple but elegant steps.

A few measures in, and Davis felt James pull him in tighter, and the hand on his waist left momentarily. Davis felt a moment of confusion, until he felt those strong fingers under his chin, tipping his head up slightly. He met his blue eyes with some of that confusion, and wilted under another one of those kind smiles.

James' voice rumbled, carrying clearly under the sound of the music. "I believe I mentioned the rules, Davis."

Davis swallowed, with difficulty, and offered his own smile in return, but he was unable to concentrate on anything besides James' gaze, holding him in thrall. "I'm listening," he said.

"Entrances are clearly marked. Those marked staff or private remain so for those people. From this wing of the club, the entrance to the public part of the building is also clearly marked. It's expected that all behaviour conform to a public standard, beyond that door. The general public uses the conference facilities, the theatre, and the restaurant on a regular basis, and it's very important for the club to maintain that positive relationship with the public. Here on the club side, standard club rules apply here in the dance hall, and also across in the demonstration hall. The tour doesn't end there, however."

"All right," Davis nodded, feeling James' mass pull him around each turn, as though he weighed nothing. It wasn't an experience he was accustomed to - being rather on the bulky side himself, due in no small part to long hours at the gym - but he was loving every moment of it. He felt a little dizzy, and more than a little turned on. "Where would we go next?'

"The ground floor, and then the third floor. Both will look much like a standard hotel hallway, but we do like guests to be familiar. Those rooms are set aside for overnight guests during the club's working week, they are closed for two nights of the week, on the day that Tessera hosts private events, and on the day that we're closed. Staff might occasionally stay over in bad weather, if there's room. Now then. Have I your complete attention?"

Davis felt the pleasant haze he'd fallen into drop away at James' words, and he found himself stuttering a little, nearly tripping as his focus sharpened - but James' strong arms were there to catch him, and they continued the dance smoothly, as though nothing had happened. But something _had,_ Davis knew, and he knew James knew it, too. He nodded silently.

"The second floor, Davis. I'll take you through the tour myself. There are twelve... rooms, up there. You should know that any club member or visitor you see on that floor has been personally vetted by Mistress Tess. As a guest of Carl's, she will dictate whether or not you return to the floor, but again, as a guest of Carl's, you should be aware of the facilities."

"I've heard a little about them," Davis said, nodding again. "One of my clients is a friend of Tess', and he was just down to Tessera a few weeks ago with his lovers. And, of course, Carl's been coming down for years."

James smiled down at Davis again, his blue eyes searching. "The rules on that floor are different. Subs are required to be accompanied, at all times, by a Top. If there's an open box present, staff will escort him, if there are Tops present who are willing to coach, or play." His gaze sharpened sternly. "These rooms are private, Davis. You are not to interfere with anything you might see, even if you find it disturbing - if there is something, you will let Carl or your escort know, and Security is always present, no less than two at any time. By invitation only, you might say, far more strict than the demonstration hall will be."

"I understand," Davis said, with a faint smile at the idea of finding anything at a place like this _disturbing._ Since his initiation into the scene in college - thanks to Carl - he'd been _very_ clear with himself, and all his lovers since, exactly what he desired from a power exchange relationship. His professional discipline relationships notwithstanding, he had a certain level of expectation in regards to the experience of submitting to others, and he'd had those expectations met at private clubs similar to this one all over the world. There wasn't much he _hadn't _seen.

But there was something about this man, even beyond his striking presence and clear expertise on the dance floor, that compelled Davis, made him yearn to move into his personal space, to experience him more thoroughly than he would be able to do so in a public setting such as this. He hoped he would get the opportunity.

"I'll touch on other important details as we walk through." He bowed slightly to Davis. "Shall we?" The music trailed off, and segued into something a little faster as Davis took James' hand and followed him off the dance floor. "We'll go down to the ground floor first. This way - the main stairs for the club wing are in the center of the building. There's another stairwell midway through the public wing." James nodded to the security officer outside the stairwell, and opened the door, ushering Davis through with a gentle hand on his back.

"Questions are welcome," James added, and Davis could hear the suggestion in the tone of that deep, velvety voice.

"Boxers or briefs?" Davis quipped, looking back over his shoulder with a cheeky grin.

It earned him a raised eyebrow from the taller man, who opened the door from the stairs into the ground floor hallway - and also a pair of heavy pats on his backside. Davis felt each touch on his skin, radiating out to cover his back with tingling reaction, and he let out a nervous chuckle. He glanced up at James, pausing in his passage, and was arrested by his ice-blue eyes. They weren't at all unkind, but there was something behind them that promised more, and it made him shiver.

"The ground floor," James said quietly. "There are twenty rooms on this floor. The facilities are community, though there's a private bath for any who need something a little quieter. You'll also find a small kitchenette here, and laundry facilities as well."

"Is this where we'll likely be staying?" Davis asked, glancing down the hallway.

James appeared to contemplate for a moment. "Actually, I'm not sure. Carl's quite close to Tess, it's possible that you might be in guest quarters in the private wing."

"Oh, I somehow doubt Carl will be staying with me tonight," he said, grinning. "He's got business with Tess. I suspect I'll be finding someone's floor to crash on."

That earned him another one of those powerfully arched eyebrows. "All the same, it's a question for Tess - and for Carl, Davis. This way." He led the way into the stairwell again.

Davis smiled fondly at the idea of Carl being in charge of him. It was a part of their history - back in college, they'd been in a threesome with Bebe, and then after, the two of them had been exclusive for a while. They'd even considered a permanent partnership, but eventually it had become clear they were much better as friends and business partners than as lovers. Even so, Carl was - helpful - when necessity demanded it. _He's damn talented with that single-tail whip,_ Davis thought, remembering a recent session. _I wonder if the marks are still there?_

Davis felt the other man scrutinizing him as they climbed the stairs, flight after flight. Davis was healthy and toned; he was barely winded by the time they reached the top floor, but he decided it was time to rid himself of his sweater. He drew it over his head as they walked, revealing a short-sleeved button-down, and multiple layers of long-healed cuff marks on his wrists.

"You seem fairly fit," James suggested. "You'll see here, the same set of twenty rooms, facilities, kitchen. The rooms up here aren't used quite as often, and you might find staff staying over here."

"Good to know," Davis nodded. "As for being fit, my professional life keeps me pretty stationary, so I try to stay as active as I can manage. I used to dance, back in college, on the stage. These days it's mostly racquetball and climbing."

"Dancing, hmmm?" The eyebrow was questioning this time. "I climb, myself - there are a few good scrambles around here."

"That's one thing I miss about living out west," Davis smiled. "Midwest Ohio is pretty flat and featureless - most of my climbing is indoors, anymore."

"I don't like the walls as well as a proper cliff. All right. Second floor. Mind yourself," came the warning. "Slip up and I won't be patting, this time."

"Understood," Davis responded in a murmur, but inside he felt an uncharacteristically intense rush of desire at his comment. He had to force himself to concentrate on their passage through the hallway, instead of on James' perfect ass in his leather pants.

"All right," James said, turning to the right. "This first room - the subs call it the Harry Potter room." Davis laughed, surprised, and James responded with a wry grin. "It's not staged, but it can be upon request.

"Next to it," he continued softly, "a room for the Bears to play in. The end of this little hall, we have a military room, and a room that's used for shibari and suspension - the rigging in there is complicated." He led the way back where they'd come. "This next room is used for ageplay." The strains of a soft lullabye drifted out of that open door.

Davis peered curiously at the open doors, hesitating. "Are they open for observation?" he asked. "There's nothing in particular I'm interested in, here, but I wouldn't want to be inappropriate." _Much._

"Yes. If the doors are open, observation is welcome. It's very rare for doors to be closed - usually only when Tess, or another senior Top, is present. Here we have a medical play room - it does double as a clinic if there are injuries. Every member of security is a trained first responder, and a few of them hold EMT credentials - and then there's Tess, of course."

"Handy, that," said Davis with a smile. He knew Tess' background as a military nurse; it was her influence that had led Carl to choose medicine as a second career after his service in the military was over. "I imagine I'd feel very safe doing some pretty intense play here, with all that medical support."

James nodded. "It's considered one of the specialties. This next room - you might call it a room devoted to altering one's appearance. Piercing, usually. And, tattooing, branding, other permanent alterations - although those do not take place without Tess herself present."

"Good to know," he said, pausing with a hand on the door frame. "May I -?" He indicated the open door.

"Please do," James replied calmly.

Davis edged past James' bulk into the room, allowing himself to brush deliciously against his chest as he did so, watching the bigger man's response. A faint smile crept over James' face before the Top directed an assessing gaze into the room. Davis glanced appreciatively around, noting the sterile equipment and big stone fireplace on one end, complete with branding irons. He picked one up by the handle, examining the Tessera insignia in cold metal on the end with approval. _I wouldn't mind adding that one to my collection._

James indicated another door. "A small lounge - friends often meet here to talk quietly, or wait for another couple who might still be in play. The room behind it is for sensory play - ice, feathers, you name it, it's in there. Next we have an old fashioned school room." He quirked a smile. "And the placement is perhaps mildly awkward, but the room across here - restraints, cages, chains."

"Ah," Davis said, unable to disguise his interest in the mention of _chains._ Indeed, he thought his _interest_ was probably pretty obvious by now. His pants were becoming inordinately tight, and he wished he'd chosen to change into his usual club outfit of tank top and jeans before getting on the plane.

James laid a friendly hand on his shoulder as Davis turned away, walking them down to the last two doors on the hallway. "To your left," came the deep voice, quieter than it had been, "a room devoted to oral sex."

Davis was unable to keep from eying the crotch of James' leather pants, wearing a smile that was probably entirely too hopeful. "Sounds wonderful," he said, his voice coming out low and hoarse, and glanced briefly at James before casting his gaze to the floor.

James' hand tightened on the younger man's shoulder, bodily turning him away from the doorway, and directed him into the door across the hall. This time James didn't pause in the doorway, but walked Davis straight inside, into a room that was empty of other patrons. Davis glanced around, seeing ottomans, straight backed chairs. The walls were hung with - he swallowed. Those were macro photographs of varying spanking implements. He had no doubt as to what the discreet cabinets placed about the room contained.

Davis' hand reached up to touch the close-up photograph of the handle of a single-tail bullwhip. "We have several prints by this artist in our office," he said, with a smile. "Beautiful work. I love the subtlety."

James nodded. "The photographer is the only one I've encountered so far who's been able to show the detailing in my wraps," he said mildly. Davis broke into a wide smile as he realized the meaning behind James' words.

"You - those are _your_ tools?" he said. "I'm impressed. I would consider myself to be a connoisseur of single-tails, and I have plenty of experience in both using and... being used by them."

That got another one of those damned eyebrows. "And your preference?"

"That would depend on my present company," he said, tilting his head. "I occasionally wield the whip in demonstrations, but Carl's the real expert there." He flushed, smiling. "I'm also happy to be demonstrated upon."

James rested a heavy hand on Davis' shoulder, exchanging a long look. And then the big hand slid down, to grip Davis' bicep. "Are you asking?" he said quietly.

"Oh, yes." Davis responded, leaning into the touch, letting his eyelids fall closed. "God... yes."

He felt James' hand slide along his back, cupping the back of his neck firmly, and then James moved bodily forward, leaving Davis no choice but to go where the bigger man directed. He felt his heart pound more quickly as James guided him toward one of the larger cabinets in the room, then reached up and opened it, displaying a wide array of leather implements.

"Then choose."

The possibilities opened up before him, dizzying in their wide array. He reached a slow hand forward to touch the tools, one at a time, stiff and supple, ornate and plain, black and white and all manner of shades in between. "Beautiful," he murmured, and cast a glance back at James before returning to the cabinet. "The tools are pretty, too."

"Sauce before a spanking?"

Davis chuckled, low and throaty, and laid his hand on the heaviest flogger, hanging by its red leather handle from the back of the cabinet. There were a good deal more than nine tails on this particular tool, but they were thick and not particularly forgiving. He had a pretty good idea of what those tails would feel like on his back, and he shivered in anticipation. "Yes, please."

"Yes, please _what?" _James demanded, emphasis on the last word.

He flinched into the implication, and with a shuddering sigh, replied, "Yes, please, _sir."_

James held out an expectant hand, and Davis placed the handle of the flogger precisely against the webbing of his thumb. Even that brief contact made Davis' breath come faster, and he stroked James' knuckles lightly with the pads of his fingers.

"Come here." Davis moved on the command, unable to look away from those luminous blue eyes. James tucked the red leather into his back pocket, and reached, big hands resting on the top button of Davis' shirt. "May I?" he asked formally, and at Davis' silent nod, undid the first button.

The closeness of James' face, his steady regard, his deep voice, all were affecting Davis in familiar ways - and yet this felt somehow _different_ from other experiences he'd had. _Carl's right, _he thought ruefully. _I must really need it._

"Thank you, sir," he whispered.

The rest of the buttons went, agonizingly slowly, and James pushed the shirt from Davis' shoulder, letting the fine fabric fall. And then those big hands landed, warm and enveloping, over Davis' hips. He felt himself turned, slowly, and once his back was to James, the bigger man pulled him against his body. He could feel James' arousal, hot and hard and maddeningly close, and his own cock was practically in agony. James ran a deliberate hand down Davis' chest, resting at the button of his pants.

"Please," Davis breathed.

James stepped back, and swatted, two resounding cracks bouncing off of the walls loudly. "Please _what_."

He moaned, his hips bucking of their own accord, seeking that contact again, the impact of his hand. "Please... _sir."_

"Good," James murmured, drawing Davis close again, the heat of James body radiating through him. Those huge hands came down again to undo the button, and slip the zipper down slowly, notch by notch.

They were standing before a wide, square ottoman. "Pull them down, and step out. Ah-" came the cautionary noise as he began to slide the khakis off. "Shorts too."

Once Davis was free of the fabric James pulled him close again, and Davis could feel the insistent throbbing of James' cock against his ass, even through the leather. He moaned again, rubbing back against that pressure, wanting it, wanting even more to please this impressive, gorgeous man.

James stepped him forward, and his hands swept down Davis' arms to his hands, lacing his fingers through Davis'. And then James bent forward, drawing Davis' palms to rest on the surface of the ottoman, effectively doubling him in half.

"Stance," came the next command. "You know what to do."

Davis responded immediately, positioning himself with the precision of long experience, feet placed exactly so, hips thrust up and waiting for what he knew was coming next - and _god,_ he wanted it, as much as he could ever remember wanting anything, since he'd awakened to his own desires. This man was offering exactly what he needed, and for that, he couldn't feel anything but excruciating gratitude. "Sir," he said tremulously.

"Good boy," came the first praise. A tremendous cracking noise filled the room, then silence after. And then the burn began. The older man hadn't held back, and Davis gasped and writhed with pleasure. The blows fell, one after one, each one spaced no more than a hairbreadth from where the previous had fallen.

The surface of his ass wasn't entirely covered, and he was surprised to hear James pause. Fingers trailed across a spot on the undercurve of his butt cheek, one that rasped in the right way to let Davis know that one of the marks from the singletail the other day was still inflamed - probably from sitting on it so much in court. He heard the creak of leather behind him, but didn't move from his position, wanting with desperate pleasure to find out what happened next, not willing to break this man's rhythm.

He felt another warm brush across the mark, and then the heat of - _oh my god - _James' breath on his skin... and then he felt the slow, warm wetness of the man's tongue, caressing into the mark, laving across the damaged flesh. Another creak, and he cried out as the flogger came down again three times - almost too rapidly to distinguish between the blows. Davis felt each impact along his back, and an echoing response in his cock, heavy and aching for some kind of friction, but denied contact by his position. He leaned forward just a little, arching his back against the burning sensation, and the rigidity of his cock.

"What's this, boy?" James asked. "What happened to that position, hmm?" Davis checked himself, beginning to adjust his stance automatically. "Oh no, Davis. I'd say a mistake like that doesn't warrant a return to the previous activity." And before Davis could so much as take a breath to argue or plead, James took a seat on the ottoman and slung Davis effortlessly across his knees.

"Oh - _fuck_, sir," he gasped, held fast by James' strong arm, feeling unaccountably small and helpless on the bigger man's lap. It wasn't a position to which he was accustomed, and the pressure of James' leg against his cock nearly undid him, but he was so tightly bound that he couldn't even thrust his hips. He let himself dangle, the vertebrae of his neck rotating loosely as he relaxed into the half-embrace of James' body against his. It was the sweetest feeling in the world.

James' warm hand ran down his back and caressed the marks left by the flogger on the soft skin. And then his palm lifted, and began a series of sharp smacks on Davis' butt. The smacks were hard, jolting him forward with each swat, and stung and burned. He lost count rapidly, so quickly was James spanking him, until he cried out, the intensity of the sensation causing him to struggle in the older man's grip.

"Please, sir," he begged, "I'm close - please, let me -"

James stood both of them up abruptly, yanking Davis back against him, Davis crying out as his tender ass ground into the leather of James' pants. And then James' hand closed gently around Davis' cock.

"Is this what you want?"

"God, _yes," _he whimpered, thrusting into James' light grasp, seeking greater friction. "I like it hard and fast - please, give it to me -"

James chuckled, his low voice reverberating against Davis' chest. "I want to hear you _beg_, boy."

Davis struggled against James' iron grip, rubbing back against him, reveling in the additional sensation of his bruised and aching backside against James' hard body. "Please, sir," he chanted, "please, please, I want to come, _please, _god..."

The arm around his middle tightened, and then there was a sudden exquisite pressure around his cock. James' callused hand stripped up and down the hard length, his practiced thumb rubbing against the underside of the head with precise rhythm. It was tight, and it was fast, and _exactly_ what he wanted -

"Come," James ordered. _"Now."_

With barely a second's response time, Davis felt the orgasm ripped from his body, and he gasped at the reaction and change in pressure. It dropped him bonelessly back into James' embrace, his legs entirely useless. James held him up under his arms, and he felt himself cradled, supported in a way he'd seldom felt before - a way he hadn't even realized he wanted.

Davis heard the air in his own lungs, slowing and evening out, and listened to the echoing rhythm of James' breathing. He turned his head to one side, feeling the firm pressure of James' chest under his cheek, and listened to the slow, steady beat of his heart. "Thank you, sir," he murmured, feeling unaccountably moved. "That was - exactly what I needed."

James ran a hand down Davis' chest. "We'll check with Tess and Carl. But you won't be sleeping on anyone's floor but mine tonight, boy, if that's what you want." The man's voice was soft, and tender.

A bright flash of gratitude recalled Davis' earlier feeling of appreciation for what James had given him. "Yes, please, sir," he said quickly, smiling against his warm body. "That sounds - just right."

James smiled back. "In the next cupboard over, you'll find clean rags, and a spray bottle of bleach solution. You know what to do." As Davis turned towards the indicated cabinet, which also held a basket full of obviously used rags, he watched as James picked up the clothing, earlier discarded on the floor (aside from the jacket, which was neatly laid across the back of a chair). James laid the rest of the clothing out as well, and then beckoned to Davis, once the floor was clean.

"Stand right here. There you go, boy." And with that, James carefully restored Davis' clothing, piece by piece, fastening the buttons just as slowly as he'd unfastened them earlier. Davis reveled in the intimacy of this gesture as James leaned in to straighten his collar, stroking his face with a gentle hand.

James stood back for a moment and surveyed his work. "Good boy," he murmured. Then he held out a hand, waiting until Davis took it. "Come along with me."

There had been plenty to look at on the way upstairs, but somehow Davis barely registered the presence of other guests as they made the return trip. His hand was securely in James', and he found his attention entirely captured by James' steady, stern presence. It had been a long time since he'd felt quite this absorbed by another person. It was heady, much as the spanking had been, and he let himself revel in the sensation.

James paused at the security station in the stairwell, and spoke quietly to the guard, waiting for the answer. He nodded, and thanked the young man.

"This way," he said quietly to Davis, leading down the short hallway back to the Grand Hall, and through a door that Davis hadn't noticed when he and Carl came in earlier. Once inside, there was a second door, glass with wrought iron chasing over it, and it was this that James opened courteously for Davis.

Davis found himself on a set of curving stone steps, on a glassed in terrace, one that was hung with exotic plants, and small, intimate gas lights against the solid brick of the building. The roof was high - almost two stories, and the air smelled of night-blooming jasmine. The brickwork of the floor was laid in intricate pattern that swirled and sparkled on the floor, and there were fountains placed outside of what looked like private alcoves. It was beautiful, and the shadows made the refined planes of James' cheekbones leap out in stark, gorgeous relief. They weren't walking very fast, as if James was giving him time to take everything in.

"I've never seen anything quite like it," Davis said, gazing around him as they walked. His voice was muted, as the surroundings seemed to warrant.

"This is all Tess," James murmured fondly. "She had quite a vision, and a lot of work and care went into making it happen for her. The terrace isn't often open to the public."

Davis smiled up at James. "Are you telling me we're alone here?"

"No," James said mildly. "But it's early in the night for many of the private club members to be here. The alcoves are fairly secluded, though, so don't worry about your eyes wandering. Tess will be down at the other end of the terrace with Je- with Carl."

Davis knew Tess' history with Carl gave her the right to use his middle name, familiarly, as no one else was allowed to do anymore. When Davis had met him in college, he'd already reclaimed his first name - "Once my father died, it stopped being anathema," he'd said - and discarded the persona of Lieutenant Jesse. He'd told Davis once that it was part of becoming a Top. "But with Tess, I'm really not, anyway," he'd said.

Tess looked up as they approached, and a slow smile - one that was almost more a smirk crossed her face. Carl watched the expression warily, and his flushed face and hunched shoulders told Davis that they'd probably been discussing the situation with Finn. _Carl had been right when he'd said Tess wasn't going to like it,_ he thought sympathetically.

"James, Davis. Did you enjoy the tour?" she asked sweetly.

"It's been... incredible," Davis said, breathless from more than the walk, and smiled at her.

"I understand from Jesse that you've been in many of the major clubs across the country," she inquired.

He nodded. "I travel a lot for work, and it's been a personal goal of mine to visit a club in every state. Yours makes thirty-three."

Tess' eyebrows both arched in some surprise. "I should enjoy discussing that with you then, perhaps tomorrow? Do we... measure up?" she asked, voice silky, and her eyes glancing up and down James' form suggestively.

"In every way," he affirmed, joining her in her glance at James, a delighted laugh escaping his lips. James seemed to bear this teasing with stoic good humor.

A uniformed young man stepped up, and quietly claimed James' attention, drawing him to the side.

"Please, Davis, have a seat. I'm sure James will only be a moment." She rose, and went to a sideboard he hadn't notice, pouring two more glasses of wine and setting them down on the table. Once she'd seated herself again, she reached around and, with a sharp yank, drew Carl's chair closer to hers, motioning to two chairs that were just behind Davis, when he glanced behind himself. Davis sat backwards in the chair, leaning on the patterned back.

Tess raised an eyebrow. "Properly, perhaps."

"Ma'am," he said, immediately switching the chair around and reseating himself, sitting a little straighter than he had a moment ago. He grinned at Carl, and Carl regarded him with amusement.

"That was quick," he muttered.

Davis watched with curiosity as he flinched, then realized one of Tess' hands was beneath the table. _Interesting._ He could hear the relaxed rumble of James' voice just over his shoulder, recognizing the stern orders that James was effortlessly listing off, though he couldn't make out the words.

James' eyes met his, and Davis blinked as they appeared to soften, and James laid a hand on his shoulder.

"My apologies, Davis. Some responsibilities are unavoidable. Chanterelle will be closing very shortly, and we shouldn't be disturbed again." The man's eyes seemed to glance at the untouched glass in front of Davis, and he lifted the glass - a heavy serviceable sort of wineglass, but in the man's big hands, it looked like the most delicate of crystal - handing it to Davis.

He took the glass and raised it slightly, admiring the dark red liquid within. "I wouldn't want to distract _you_ from your duties," Davis said, but he was warmed by James' expression of desire for time alone together.

"It's good for my supervisors to take on more responsibility. I'm fortunate to have a very talented sous chef at the moment, one who is interested in learning anything he can get his hands on. I'll lose him one of these days, but it makes it easy to take an evening for myself, if something comes up." His eyes traveled up and down Davis' relaxed body.

"Something might very well," Davis agreed, smiling. He set the wine glass on the tabletop and held the stem firmly in two fingers, swirling the liquid and watching the patterns it made on the bowl of the glass. He raised the glass to his face and breathed in the scent. "Mmmm. Nice bouquet. Which Rhone varietal is this?"

A pleased expression crept across James' face, and a glance at Tess showed that the dominatrix was smiling softly at Davis.

"A GSM, sweetheart. d'Arenberg Vale, from Australia. Did you have any questions about the club?"

A few moments later, another one of the uniformed boys slipped up to the table, serving tray expertly balanced, dropping down a selection of serving platters on the table, and quietly setting small appetizer plates before each of them, along with wrapped silverware, all without setting the serving tray down, or interfering with anyone's field of vision.

"James, you terrible sneak," Tess exclaimed, and Davis watched the tall man smile gently at the dominatrix.

"The night is young," James suggested. "And Lindsay was experimenting with my recipe file, and an odd shipment of mushrooms earlier, so you'll speak up if anything isn't to taste, hmm?" He reached out and served himself, and then Davis, leaving Tess' choices - and the choices that Davis was wondering if she'd make for Carl - to her.

Davis reached out one curious finger and trailed it through the sauce on his plate, then settled the finger between his lips. "Delicious," he proclaimed.

James shook his head, reaching over to disentangle the fine linen napkin from the silverware, draping the cloth about Davis' lap, setting the silverware down carefully in the proper places. His blue eyes bored into Davis' twinkling ones. And then he gently raised Davis' hand, and sharply slapped the backs of his fingers.

"Behave. There's a lady present."

"Forgive me," Davis murmured to Tess, inclining his head, and picked up his fork, his devilish smile not one whit diminished by the slap.

Tess shook her head, and if Davis wasn't mistaken, she shot a narrow eyed glare at Carl, as if Davis' misbehaviour were somehow Carl's fault. Carl's eyes widened, and he opened his hands in an _it wasn't me_ gesture.

Tess simply served both of them, and tapped the side of Carl's plate meaningfully. Davis was a little awed: if they'd been in a larger room, or with more people present, it would be likely that the quick, dominating tap would have gone unnoticed. As it was, Carl picked up his own silverware and cut into the mushroom quiche with clear pleasure.

"Oh my," Tess said. "Sweet Forest Nameko mushroom custard tarts! I've had these before - would you believe from a sixteen year old's hands? Puck does enjoys cooking for his lovers - they're both seventeen, James - Davis knows them, as does _Jesse," _Tess said with wicked emphasis.

Davis restrained himself from starting. Yes, that's definitely why Carl had looked upset - they couldn't have been discussing anything else. He glanced at James, who had an eyebrow raised curiously at Tess.

"Well then," James rumbled. "How do they compare? Lindsay could use the criticism."

Tess gave him a wry look. "Well, these are a little sharper? Perhaps I should have _you_ make some, James," she suggested, a wicked twinkle to her eyes.

"You know... Puck?" Davis said hesitantly, glancing at Carl, who was red-faced and scowling.

"Yes," she said gently. "My partner's boys met Puck and his family a few months ago, and as the boys were just discovering their relationship, my - I suppose you might call them stepsons, for ease of conversation, thought they might benefit from some advice. As it turns out, my partner and Mr. Hummel - Kurt's father," she added for James' benefit. "seem to get along very well, so I've kept in touch with the boys. Although, apparently not as well as I should."

_There was steel in that last sentence, _Davis thought, wincing on Carl's behalf.

James smiled, apparently ignoring Carl's reaction. "I'll look forward to seeing Puck again, and meeting his partners someday. Tess, I should like to ask what your expectations for the rest of the evening are, I wasn't able to answer Davis, when he asked where he and Carl might be quartered?"

"I thought perhaps guest quarters, in my wing, James. Though I'll be keeping Jesse with me tonight." Carl's deep sigh of surrender indicated he'd expected this.

"I'd be happy to show Davis to the Ranier Room on the second floor," James said quietly.

"That sounds lovely, James. The two of you cut quite a lovely figure on the dance floor earlier, will you perhaps dance? And the demo hall should have some fun started by this point." They had all sat back a little from the table, the appetizer platter nicely diminished.

"I'll need to check in with the kitchen, if Davis doesn't mind accompanying me, and we'll see," came the calm and steady reply, as James set his empty wine glass down on the table.

"I'll follow you anywhere," Davis said softly, gazing up at James.

James rose, and held his hand out for the younger man to balance against as he rose. Davis didn't miss the significant glance between James and Tess, nor the sharp nod that Tess gave the taller man. "Thank you for the dinner company," he added to Tess as they departed.

James smiled down at Davis, as they traveled - again slowly - through the beautiful terrace. "What shall it be? Tess is right, there's dancing, and the demo hall will certainly be well populated by now."

Davis glanced down at James' hand in his. "I can't help but feel a little - well, regretful - that your pleasure hasn't yet exceeded mine," he said. "Is there anything I can do about that?"

That earned Davis a wickedly low chuckle. "Come this way with me," the man said firmly, and to Davis' surprise drew him through the door that was broadly marked with _Public._ "There are conference rooms here - a bar - which is _not_ open to the club members, for the most part, unless they are being served soft drinks and juices. The main dining room - and through here, a private dining room. And the kitchen." He led Davis to a small table, and seated him gently. "Wait here for me, while I check in with my staff, please." James reached behind himself, filling a glass of water in the tiny bar sink behind the table, and setting it before Davis. His hand lingered, squeezing the man's shoulder.

Davis found it a pleasure to be in James' element, watching him interact with his staff. He clearly took his responsibility to the restaurant, and the club, seriously. James lingered the longest with a young woman who watched him with wide eyes, nodding earnestly in response to the man's quiet words. Finally, he spoke with an attractive young man who was seated at a big wooden desk in the corner, and Davis was amused, watching the startled jump the man made when James laid a hand on his shoulder. The youth smiled a few moments later, and then James was walking back towards Davis, a warm and very intent look in his blue eyes.

"If it is your pleasure to dance, or to walk the demonstration hall with me, you will tell me so, and that is where we will go," he said firmly. "Otherwise... you will stand up and come with me, immediately."

Davis caught his breath at the command, and he rose, responding without thought, "Oh, yes, sir - please."

"Come along," James said, capturing Davis' hand, tucking it into his elbow. He led the way out of the kitchen, into the long service hallway. "You're not to be in this hallway without Tess or myself," he said sternly. A door opened into a stairwell that was the mirror image of the one in the club wing. Davis felt a sense of delicious foreboding as they departed the public space and entered the private wing of Tessera.

There was another security check in the stairwell, and James gave Davis' full name to the guard there, before they climbed just one of the long flights of stairs. James hesitated at the top of the stairs, glancing to the left, and then the right. He seemed to decide quickly, and opened the door immediately to the left, which revealed a short hallway, with just five doors along it. James opened the first one, which revealed a dimly lit space that looked to be half office, half workshop. Davis looked about himself curiously, until his attention lit on a long table that had leatherworking tools neatly arrayed on the wall above it.

James escorted him to the end of the room, very near that table, and opened a drawer. Inside lay a line of leather implements, all with a wrap that Davis realized was quite distinctive.

"Perhaps you'd like to choose a tool," James suggested, voice low and intense.

"I couldn't be more delighted, sir," he said, stroking the tools with an intimate touch. After a brief deliberation, he selected a heavy, blunt leather tawse, made with black and blue rows of stitching. The significance of the colors was not lost on Davis, and as he handed it to James, he thought by the smirk on his face that it was not lost on him, either.

James escorted him back out, closing the office door, and then the hall door quietly behind himself. The Top nodded towards the end of the hallway. "If," he said quietly and deliberately, "you should find yourself in need, that door at the end of the hallway is the entrance to Tess' office. She is often there quite late, and if she's not present, then head into the stairwell. Security will take you up to her quarters on the next floor up if you ask - Carl will be there with her. Do you understand me?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"Good. To your left is a little kitchenette, should you need. Your luggage should be here," he said, opening the next door down the hallway. "This is the Ranier room."

Davis wasn't quite sure of the significance. He glanced into the room. "It looks like - yours," he said standing in the open doorway.

"It is, in a way. I designed it." James said, and closed the door. Once the latch and lock clicked over, James turned abruptly to Davis, pinning him up against the heavy wood of the door, and Davis was immediately lost in the powerful, demanding kiss, body conforming to James' as the big man's arm twined around him, pulling him in close.

"How may I please you, sir?" Davis murmured into his ear, once the kiss had run its course, daring to run his hands down James' strong, solid body.

"I think we have some business to take care of, first." The look on James' face could only be described as deep, intense pleasure, and he leaned in to kiss Davis again.

"And what would that be, sir?" Davis asked, feeling a little breathless at James' closeness and the taste of his tongue.

A slow smile crept across James' lips. "It's my _responsibility_," he said, voice deep and thrumming, "to point out to you just how lucky you are that Mistress Tess did not stand you up and take that quirt of hers to you earlier - and not once, but twice."

Davis sighed regretfully. "What can I say? I've never been particularly good at being good."

James' gaze fell upon him. "And what if I told you that you _will _be, by the end of the night?"

"Then you're taking on a bigger challenge than you might be ready for," Davis said, his eyes serious.

It was only the crinkle of James' eyes, and the quirk of the corner of the man's mouth that suggested that he might just be in trouble. And even then, he only had a flash of both of those things, before James spun him around, pinning him up against the door, a hand coming around to deftly unto the fastenings of Davis' khakis, letting the fabric fall to the floor.

"Take your shorts down," came the deep rumble in Davis' ear.

He complied with alacrity and without question, baring his ass for James' inspection, turning his cheek against the surface of the door to gaze at James beside him.

James left hand curled up to cradle Davis' jawline, cushioning it from the solid door. "Don't move," came the order. And then Davis felt the tawse land across his backside, closing his eyes at the sensation as a precise dozen blows came down, relighting the fire from earlier. He was reeling with the power of the leather in James' hands. "That, boy, is Tessera's standard. And from this point on, I'm not going to hesitate to apply it."

"Th-thank you, sir," he gasped, feeling the burn on his legs and back, spreading up his spine and ascending.

James turned him around roughly - pressing Davis' bare backside into the gritty, textured surface of the wooden door and claimed another deep kiss, this time with his tongue demanding entrance into Davis' waiting mouth. Davis surrendered to James' invasion and gave voice to his own moans, going boneless against the pressure of James' body against him.

"Good boy," came the words, long moments later. James' hands slid down Davis' back, cupping the heated buttocks, pulling him in close. "Hold on to me." Davis linked his hands around James' neck, using every inch of his strong arms to clutch him tight.

Those huge, heated hands gripped Davis' buttocks firmly, and lifted - and Davis had no choice but to lean into the grip he had around the strong neck and shoulders, and instinctively wrapped his legs around the bigger man, feeling faint with the sensation. It earned a throaty chuckle from the big man, who then bit down on Davis' neck, teeth anything but gentle.

"Oh, _god -" _he whimpered, giving himself over to the pleasure of James' tongue on his bruised flesh. "That's so good, just exactly right... "

Soft music swelled in the room, and Davis realized belatedly that James was supporting his entire weight with one hand as he strode forward into the room - the man must have switched on some sort of stereo system, and the strains of Miles Davis bled into Davis' awareness, even as James bit down, over and over again, travelling slowly up Davis' neck. With every touch of his teeth against his skin, Davis let out a moan, until the sounds blended together into one incredulous sound of pleasure and desire.

He was half blind with pleasure when James sat down on the edge of the enormous bed, Davis' legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. The arm supporting his weight didn't move, but James' other hand slid under Davis' shirt briefly, and then began popping the buttons open, one by one, tongue delving deeper into Davis' mouth with each release of the fabric. All Davis could do was hang on and let him do it.

He hadn't noticed when James had yanked the black silk sleeves from beneath the carved leather bracers that the Top was wearing, but the starkness of the black leather against the other man's tanned skin was stunning. James allowed him to balance his weight on the older man's lap, briefly, while he stripped off the silk.

Davis was leaning in, desperate to resume the kisses, the biting that had been interrupted, when James hushed him, a big finger across Davis's lips. Davis' tongue darted out to capture the finger when a quiet chuckle arrested him.

"Shh - hold that thought for a moment, Davis. Look at me."

"Sir," he murmured, desire warring with obedience.

"Safewords," came the demand.

"I don't use them," Davis replied, honestly.

James' glare could have melted steel. "You need them," he said. "I demand them. If you won't select your own, I'll assign you some, and you'll _use_ them, understood?"

"Yes, sir," he agreed. James probably could have asked him to wash the floor with a toothbrush and he would have said _yes, sir._ "How about _yellow_ and _red?"_

James nodded. "Yellow and red. Good boy, Davis, good boy." There was another one of those dizzying movements, and Davis found himself flat on his back on the silky surface of the sheets - he'd wonder later, when had James pulled back the covers? - with James looming above him, pinning him down with strong hands, using his tongue along the planes of Davis' collarbone, and dipping down to bite sharply at Davis' nipples.

Davis shuddered with desperate pleasure as James licked and sucked along his chest, along the pectorals and the sweep of his lats, and slipping down to swirl his tongue around Davis' hipbones. The attention went no lower, and then suddenly James' blue eyes were driving into his own, hard and demanding.

"There's buttons that need undoing, boy," James said, not even glancing down at his pants.

"Yes, sir, _thank you,_ sir," he moaned, sliding his hands down to brush a finger into the tight space between leather and skin. He deftly unfastened each button, slithering down along the bed until his eyes were level with James' impressive crotch. With appreciation and care, he slipped his hands into his soft pants, working them down over his hips and thighs, until James' legs stood free and bare. Dizzy with wanting, Davis paused long enough to fold the trousers and set them safely to the side. It wouldn't do to leave creases in those beautiful pants.

"Good boy," came the deep rumble, and Davis wondered just how much more fucking low the man's voice could_ go_. "Do you want to touch?"

Davis couldn't look anywhere else but James' magnificent cock. "Yes, please, sir - anything you want - I want to give you anything you desire."

"On your knees, boy." The order was quiet. "Right here on the bed."

He obeyed, kneeling, legs spread wide and ass tucked up, his heart thudding fast and hard in his chest. James sat up abruptly, ducking to lick an intensely long swath between the cleft between Davis's cheeks, straight up the smaller man's thigh, even as his big hands came around to cup Davis' aching balls, and slip almost delicately along his cock, deliberately teasing, not letting Davis thrust.

"Oh - fuck, sir, _please," _he whined.

The tawse came down - the leather actually whistled in the air, and the burn of the blow told him that the man had put some fucking shoulder into the spaced out blows - and Davis counted aloud to six, without thinking, without prompting.

"Language," came James' suggestion.

Davis let his head dangle between heaving shoulders. "Yes, sir," he said. "I'm sorry."

James caressed along the boy's back, fingers working at the muscles there. "There's really only one use for a mouth that filthy," he suggested.

"It would be my absolute pleasure," Davis said, smiling up at him, running a tongue over his lips in anticipation.

James turned, leaning up against the headboard, spreading his legs wide, swinging Davis effortlessly between them.

"Now," he ordered.

Davis didn't hesitate; he took James' heavy cock into his mouth, using his tongue to lick a pattern from the base of his balls to the tip of the slick shaft. He reveled in the sound of James' breathing becoming erratic and harsh, and took him deeper still, opening himself wide to the pressure in his throat.

"That's exactly right," he growled, wrapping his strong fingers in Davis's blonde hair, pulling him in against his hips. "I'm going to bury myself in you, boy. Just like that."

James apparently wasn't the sort of man who laid back and let someone suck his cock, though. Davis felt the man's hands run through his hair, gripping tight, sliding along his neck, massaging and forcing Davis closer now and then, along Davis' shoulders, hands pressing deep into the muscles there.

Davis whimpered and moaned, mouth full of James' thick cock, tongue laving and dancing around the sensitive underside, swirling around the head, and finally he hummed with pleasure as he hit the perfect spot in the back of his throat, feeling like he could swallow the man entirely. He hummed with pleasure and then he felt the restrained buck of James' hips - the back of his mind marvelling at the man's restraint. Most men would have cluched his head tighter and tried to jam their cocks as deep as possible, but not this man. One of the Dom's hands rested lightly on Davis' hair, the other curving around Davis' back.

"May I," came the deep request.

Davis' answer was to pull James' hips more firmly against his mouth, deep-throating his thick cock to the best of his ability. Judging from the speed of James' breath and the rasping cries coming from his mouth, he was doing a fine job of it.

James shuddered, and Davis felt the hot spurt of liquid deep in his throat, increasing the suction and nursing the powerful, extended orgasm from the older man. He left his mouth wrapped around the thick, satisfying cock, until James carefully withdrew, and he submitted fully, resting his head against the surface of the bed, just underneath the other man's cock, knowing that his hair was brushing James' balls.

"So talented, boy," came the welcome words. "I'm of a mind to give you a reward. What do you think?"

Davis licked the come off his lips and smiled, leaning in closer. "If you think I deserve it, sir," he said, his voice low and throaty, hoarse from the pressure of the big cock, "I would be honored."

A slow smile crept over James' face. "Slowly now. Come and give me a kiss, little boy."

Davis closed his eyes, and let James draw him in, tipping his head back deliberately to expose his throat.

"I think I'll give you a spanking now," James whispered quietly, and held Davis tighter as the shudder raced through the sub's body. "I want you to very slowly lay over my lap, my boy. Think about it before you move, now. You're going to pause for a long count of ten, with every motion you make. Understand?"

"Yessir," he said in a quick whisper.

"Good boy. _Now._"

In a smooth move his body recalled from years of dance, Davis rose gracefully and placed himself across James' strong legs. He could feel the muscles in James' thighs, ropy and firm, pressing up against his own hard cock as Davis presented his bare bottom for his pleasure.

James' big hand fondled all along the surface of Davis' buttocks, caressing up and down, thumb tracing along the crease between the two cheeks, sliding down to the undercurve and back up. And then he swatted - the smack wasn't hard in the least, but it was audible, tangible, and it was followed rapidly by a volley of the same - and Davis gasped, with the realization that James wasn't stopping, or pausing, or slowing, that if anything the smacks were growing more rapid, peppering the surface of his already abused ass, lighting an intense fire there - but nothing was landing hard.

He felt confused, and then he felt his hips buck forward, recognized the hardness of his own cock, which was driving wetly into James' hard thigh.

"Please sir... I need to come - oh, please, let me come!" he gasped.

"I think naughty boys need spankings," came the lazy and incongruous replies. "I'm not sure if they're allowed to come, are you?"

As Davis begged, James gripped his reddened ass, slipping his fingers into the curve of the crack. He thumbed it open to look, then leaned forward to lick a little along the more flamboyant strap marks and the old singletail mark.

Davis whimpered and squirmed, and James chuckled, reaching into the night stand drawer, and pulled out a rubber groove strap with a woven leather handle on it.

"Think you might like that?" he inquired mildly, showing Davis the slim tool.

"Anything you desire," Davis panted, nearly wild with the need to come, but he resisted.

"What I desire," James said, licking along the shell of Davis' ear this time, is for your hands to go back, and hold yourself open, so I can light you on fire."

Davis' whimper was almost too quiet to be heard, but he complied immediately, his hands stretching his buttocks wide, baring his clenching hole.

"I'll give you an opportunity to be a good boy, though. Do you want a cock ring, little boy? Because I won't leave an inch of this fine ass unmarked if you come before you have permission."

"Oh - yes, yes, please, sir," he said gratefully. He hadn't been at all certain of his ability to hold out much longer, not in the presence of this astounding man with the deep voice. He felt as though he'd lost twenty years on his life and was back in college again, experiencing these things for the first time. "That's very kind of you, sir."

"Don't move your hands," James rumbled. "I want to watch that hole, while I do this. And," he added thoughtfully, "you can help me. Hold this - with your teeth," James ordered, slipping the groove strap between Davis' lips. "Don't bite down."

He fished the big ring out of his drawer - Davis wasn't small by any means, and James competently cradled the heavy, hot cock in his hand as he cinched the buckle of the ring tightly around the base. "Tell me, little boy. Is it tight enough?"

"Please," he begged, enunciating around the groove strap between his teeth, and rolling his shoulders in desperation, "please, sir, a little - a little more."

James cinched the buckle down harder, and pinched at the skin on the boy's balls.

"There?"

"Yes," he hissed, feeling the burn in _oh_ so right ways. "Thank you, sir, thank you... god..."

"Release the strap," James ordered, and when Davis complied, there was a long moment where there was no motion at all. And then James' hand ghosted down Davis' spine, and before Davis was done shivering, there was a sharp whistle of the strap moving through the air, and then the cleft of his buttocks lit up with an agonizing, delightful fire. Davis cried out.

"Oh, sir - please, I _need_ - please let me, oh god please -" His begging deviated into wordless moans as James' hand moved again along the space between his cheeks.

"Like that, do you?"

The strap slapped down again before Davis could reply, and before he'd taken in a breath, there were three more strikes of lightning against his straining entrance.

"You color up nicely, brat," came the sultry words. "I _might _like that." Davis heard a familiar clink that he couldn't quite place - and then James' chilled fingers trailed along the heated crevice, trailing a piece of ice. His breathless wail was ripped from his mouth, and he thrust helplessly into the sensation.

"Mmmmm. Such nice sound effects." There was that whistle of the passage of the strap through the air, again - it was beginning to be familiar - and that blazing streak of pain that fired from his hungry entrance to his taint, several times, taking away his ability to be still over the big man's lap.

"Y-yellow, sir," he said, flinching in disbelief. _Twenty-two years in the scene and never one opportunity to use a safe word... until now._ He knew it wasn't a shameful thing, but he was astonished all the same.

James set the strap to the side, within Davis' field of vision. "Define the issue for me, please."

"I'm - if you do that again, sir, I'm going to - I can't keep myself from -" He gulped. "I'm sorry, sir, but - it feels so _good."_

"Can't keep yourself from _what_, boy." His big hand rested on the back of Davis' neck, massaging gently at the taut muscles there.

"You're going to make me come," he said, in a small voice.

James leaned down, his breath hot on Davis' ear. "Isn't that what you wanted, little boy? To come so hard you forget your name?"

"Only if you desire it, sir," he pleaded. "I can't - until you tell me."

"I'll tell you what, Davis," came the whisper. "If you come with that cock ring cinched that tight, I won't punish you. Have I your permission to continue with what I was about?"

He shivered. "You won't be - mad?"

"Davis, honey." The deep voice throbbed, and Davis felt the big hands run along his bare back, along his spine, heating flesh that was feeling chilled with sweat and worry. "I will not punish you if you come with a cock ring on. I will not be mad. Do you understand, honey? Do you want more, or do you want me to let you up from my lap? If you want up, I'm right here, I'll hold you safe. We won't go any further."

Davis felt the words down into his bones, filling a space inside that he hadn't even realized was void. He let out a breath, and suddenly began to cry, giant, intense sobs of release. "Please," was all he could choke out.

James released Davis' hands from his buttocks, and scooped him up in one motion, cradling the smaller man to his chest, kissing his forehead. Davis let himself go limp, trusting James to hold him as he rocked him, murmuring meaningless words of comfort into his ear. With every movement, he felt his cock brush against James' firm stomach, and soon he was shuddering and writhing in anxious, mewling gasps. "Please," he said again, in desperation. "I beg you - I need you to tell me it's all right."

"You're all right, honey," came the immediate response. "You are very all right." The big arms tightened around Davis, and the rocking calmed, the swaying gentled and deepened somehow, until Davis felt like he was suspended in a hammock, moving with a gentle wind. He'd never felt so cared for, so cherished. So _loved._

"I'm right here, Davis. If you need to, we can go find Carl, or we can find Tess."

"No - !" He clutched at James' strong shoulders, not wanting to let go. "This is what I want. I want - I want this. Just this."

That got a low chuckle out of the big man. "You've got it, honey. You are _all right._" James looked at the anxious face of the man in his arms, and gently bent to give him a kiss, very chaste. He shifted a little to lean up against his headboard, cradling Davis to his chest, hand gently stroking the nape of the smaller man's neck.

It was the oddest feeling, to go from 99% of the way to coming, and then suddenly to be held and caressed as though they had all the time in the world. _Perhaps,_ he thought, in a daze, _perhaps they did. Perhaps this wouldn't be... the only time they might do this._

"You want this, sir?" Davis asked, knowing he sounded fucking ridiculous, but beyond caring. "You want _this_, with me?"

"Yes," came the welcome answer. "I do. This is... captivating, my boy."

He lay very still and listened to the strong, steady beat of James' heart beneath his cheek. "Why?" he said at last.

There was a long pause, enough that tears began to queue, unbidden, in Davis' eyes. "You fit," James answered finally.

He could just lay there and cry onto the broad surface of James' chest. And somehow he knew if he did that, James would do nothing more than thumb the tears away, and keep pressing gentle kisses to his temple, the way he had been for the last few minutes.

"I suppose you'll get tired of this eventually, sir," Davis tried.

"Do you need another spanking?" James inquired, tone mild, not shifting his position at all.

"Almost certainly, sir," he admitted. "But I'm really enjoying... this."

"Then hush your chatty mouth. Understand me? You. Are. Fine. Davis. I've got you right here, honey."

Davis was able to enjoy James' embrace for a good thirty seconds before he had to ask, "Not to be disrespectful, but... are you sure there's nothing I should be _doing,_ sir?"

James reached back and patted his behind. "All you need to be doing is needing. Is there something more you need? I can always paddle an answer out of you." His deep voice was matter of fact, every day, almost lazy sounding, and Davis knew the man hadn't shifted a single muscle from his relaxed sprawl, and the heavy arms that fenced in Davis' form hadn't moved an iota.

_What I need._ It was almost a foreign concept, from this perspective, but Davis heard the command inherent in James' words and he struggled to formulate a reply. "I need... I need you. Inside me." He licked his lips. "Please, sir?"

"Is that so," James asked mildly. Davis felt the big hand surround his cock, just briefly, not enough to strain the orgasm that was somehow still hovering on the brink, and he didn't bother to restrain the sound of pleasure that escaped his lips. "My my, boy, look at this. That feels like a testament to the truth, if I ever did feel one." The big man was silent for a moment. "You lean over, little boy, and you pull the bottle of lube out of the bedside drawer. You'll open it up, and you'll soak my fingers - carefully, mind you - if that's what you want."

With aching gratitude, Davis reached across James' broad chest and found the bottle of lube just where he'd said it would be. He opened it, carefully, so as not to make a mess, and took James' big hand in his own, coating it liberally with the slick substance, between his fingers and in the center of his palm. "Ready, sir," he said.

"Give me a kiss," James suggested. When Davis reached up, blind with desire, his lips met James' just at the same moment that he felt a thick, steady finger slide slowly into his entrance. He struggled to resist the desire to thrust back, because he knew it would be over _immediately_ if he did, and he wanted this moment with James to last.

"Tight," James murmured. "Such a brat. You'll feel so good, wrapped around my cock, but we're going to take this slow, you understand me, boy?"

"I'm yours, sir," he whispered. "Any time you want me."

"Show me what that naughty tongue can do, kissing," James suggested, pulling him closer.

Scarcely daring to believe his luck, Davis brought his lips together with James', feeling his hot, hard mouth seeking entrance, and he opened to him completely, letting James take his fill. As his tongue crept into James' domain, he felt another finger press slickly, quickly inside of him, and he moaned, losing control of his mouth momentarily. He felt the big man chuckle, and then the two fingers scissored inside of him, stretching gently, back and forth. Davis calmed his breathing, knowing that the pleasure was better the more one simply let it flow, and feeling every inch of James' thick fingers pressing into him. He wouldn't forget this. He'd let it become part of him, burned into his memory. _Just this._ It was what he wanted, what he'd wanted - for years.

"So willing," James breathed. "Such beautiful obedience, Davis." James' tongue threatened to overtake Davis' mouth for a moment. Then the bigger man pulled back. "What would you think about taking a little more for me, hmmm?"

"Please," he whined.

A third finger slicked up inside of him, wiggling and teasing as it made its way inside. James had stilled for a moment, waiting to see how Davis reacted. At the arched back and moan, James spread the three fingers inside of the smaller man, stretching the resistant muscle firmly and gently.

"God," he gasped, "that's it - more, please, just like that -"

"You do not have my permission to come, Davis. I'm glad you like this," came the whispered words, and Davis felt a greater pressure as the bigger man's fingers strained to stretch the needy entrance. "And you're going to come when I want you to, not before, do you understand, my boy?"

"Yes, sir," he cried, tossing his head back, "yours, please, all yours - for you, sir, all for you."

"Say my name," James growled.

"_James," _he shouted, in delirious pleasure, "oh, _James."_

A fourth, incredulous, thick finger snuck inside of him, and he whined with frustration, wanting to feel the man's thick cock inside of him, filling him to the hilt. There was no chastisement for his begging offered, instead, he found the older man's blue eyes boring into his own.

"Do you want this, Davis?"

"Yes, I want it, sir," he begged, "I want - I want -"

"Tell me what you want, honey. What do you want me to do," James asked gently, interrupting the begging.

"Fuck me," he gasped, "_please_, just -"

"I'm not going to fuck you, Davis," James said quietly. "I'm going to turn you onto your back, honey, lying on the bed, all right?" His fingers twisted and rolled inside of Davis' body, promising that this wasn't over. Davis gasped out another fervent plea, and James chuckled. Once the world stopped moving, Davis felt a broad pressure alongside the big fingers holding his entrance open.

"Think about how you ask me for this, honey," James murmured gently. "What do you want me to do."

"Please," he said, with as much restraint as he could manage, "please - fill me up, I need to feel you inside me."

James' fingers retreated, and Davis almost keened aloud at the loss, and then a heavy, blunt pressure replaced the probing fingers, pressing infinitesimally slowly into him, until there was an almost tangible pop as the head of the bigger man's cock breached Davis. At another keening moan rent from Davis' mouth, he looked up to see James' blue eyes piercing into his.

The big cock slid, millimeter by tantalizing millimeter, until James gave a soft grunt, and Davis realized they were belly to belly, the long, thick length of the bigger man seated inside of Davis firmly, taking up tangible residence.

"Oh God," James murmured. "You're so tight, little boy. I'm gonna go so deep in you, Davis," he said, thrusting deeper than Davis had thought possible, and then there was the breathtaking slide as James withdrew slowly, and finally plunged back in, filling him completely.

Davis gave himself up to the slow, tantalizing rhythm of James' sex, back arching, moans ripping from him in response to the deeper thrusts. James move fractionally faster, and faster still, until Davis heard a near moan from the big Top.

"Oh please, sir," he murmured, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Yessss," James hissed. "Now, Davis," he said, and Davis felt the blankness that came with the release of a cock ring that had been tight for too long. "Let me feel you come, boy."

After such a long time of waiting, the command came almost as a surprise, and Davis' head swam with the unbelievable rush of his own orgasm. He cried out, "James!" almost as a supplication, although there was nothing more he could think to wish for. Everything he wanted was right here, in his arms.

James threw back his head and roared, and Davis could do nothing but shiver limply beneath him, actually feeling the walls of the condom pulse inside of him as the big man released, driving deeply and harshly into Davis' tight hole, thrusting with every pulse. He could feel the drip of sweat from James' forehead onto his chest, just before the bigger Top stilled, and captured Davis' mouth with his own, tonguing deep and hard.

A big sigh escaped from the Top. "Beautiful boy," he said, and he cradled Davis' head in one enormous palm.

"Your boy, sir?" he said, not daring to hope.

"_My_ boy," James said, blue eyes looking fiercely into Davis', until the smaller man felt as if they were boring in to his soul. "Davis."

"James," he responded, with equal fervor. "Yours, sir."

"Good," James said, and plundered another kiss.

It was all too soon that James stirred and lifted himself off Davis' willing body, leaving him soaking and chilly on the damp mattress. He made a wordless sound of protest, stretching sore muscles, feeling the abrasions on his back rubbing deliciously against the soft sheets.

"Shhhh," the top said. "Let me change, little boy. I"ll fill you up again, don't you worry your pretty head." There was the familiar sound of a condom slicking off, and hitting a trash can - and then the unbelievable sound of a foil wrapper being opened. Davis' head came up in shock.

"S-sir?" he whispered.

"Hold up your wrists, little boy."

Without even knowing what he was being asked, Davis complied, lifting them to the sky, pressed together at the wrist. He felt gentle tugs at the cuffs he wore, hearing the comforting sounds of trigger snaps, once, then twice, and then he gasped as he felt cool leather encircle his thigh, tightening down comfortingly, with the sound of the snap quickly following. The sensation was seamlessly repeated on the opposite thigh, and as his back began to arch in anticipation, he found he was unable to straighten, a fourpoint hogtie restricting his movement, wrists bound to thighs.

"And hold still," came the deep voice, and Davis felt the man _lick _ along his used entrance, felt himself flower and strain to please - and then James sunk his thick cock back inside of Davis.

"I want you to sleep, boy. Now."

The command overcame even Davis' compulsion to reply _yes, sir,_ and he could only think it as he dropped into slumber, more satisfied than he'd ever been in his life.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday<strong>

The morning light was filtered through the sheer curtains as Davis woke. The first thing he felt was the aching burn of his tanned backside, and he shifted in sleep to increase the sensation against the sheets. But it wasn't sheets that pressed against him from behind, and he moaned at the feeling of delicious pressure inside him. _He didn't stay hard - all night?_ he marveled.

"Mmm, tight," James murmured. "Go ahead and flex, Davis. I want to feel it."

Davis aimed to please. His experience with the yogic asana of _Asvinimudra_, which involved prolonged contraction and complete relaxation of the anal sphincter - well. He knew it wasn't every day James felt something like _that._ And there was nothing he wanted more than to please him. _Yours,_ he thought, in a haze of waking bliss. _Your boy. Yours._

James moaned in response to the steady, almost pulsing pressure around his cock, and thrust forward, carefully. His cock still moved slickly, and at that slip, Davis felt the bigger man buck wildly deeper, quickly and hard, too. Davis felt a hard, callused hand clasp his cock almost gently, and then squeeze in rhythm with the thrusts, stripping slickly up and down the length of Davis' cock - the length of the strokes made him feel long and aching, even as James' thick cock pulsed and nudged at his welcoming body, driving deeper with every breath that Davis took.

"Yes," he chanted, with each thrust. "Yes... yes... yes."

James was panting hard, thrusting deeply, the slap of his balls against Davis' a welcome sensation.

"That's it. I _like_ that. Come for me, _boy, _right now."

Once again the command caught him unawares, and he felt the powerful orgasm wash through him like a wave, leaving him breathless.

He didn't have a chance to catch that elusive breath, because a growl from James captivated him as it rose in volume and tenor. He felt James' hips slam into him, and again, that pulsing sensation, even with the barrier of the condom in place. _My god, _he thought, _what that wash of come must feel like without... _It was almost too much to contemplate.

And then Davis' eyes rolled back in his head, a second unbelievable climax overtaking him as James sank his teeth deep into Davis' shoulder.

Davis floated in a miasma of bliss until he heard that deep voice sound in his ear. "I think I'll take you off to the shower and wash you, boy." His chuckle rumbled through Davis' body, making him shiver. "I take care of my possessions."

"Is that what I am?" Davis murmured, feeling the warmth of James' kiss on his cheek.

"Do you want to be?" came the question.

The question seemed almost absurd to Davis, so much so that he didn't answer for a moment. Then he realized James was waiting for a reply. "Of course, sir," he said.

"Then up with you, stand next to the door. Unless you need a spanking? And I mean need, little boy. Not just want."

It was tempting, but... "No, sir," he said, gazing up at James. He relaxed into the sensation of being completely, utterly satisfied. "I - I don't think I need - anything."

"I think you need washing," James said with a smile. "Come along with me, now, Davis." The big man hesitated slightly. "It's not a walk of shame. It's just a shared bath, and we'll go straight into the private section, where the door locks."

"I have no shame at being naked in front of others," Davis said, slowly uncurling from the morass of fluids on their bed. He stretched carefully, assessing his mobility and the degree of his abrasions. Nothing seemed too much out of place.

"There won't be anyone in the hallway at this time of day - and if someone is there? They _will not see you,_ he said forcefully, almost harshly. "Tess and Stephen understand," came the gentler words, as James waited, body tenser than Davis had seen him, for Davis' reaction.

"Do you - would you prefer no one see me?" He watched James, struggling to understand.

The big man's face softened. "I'd like _everyone_ to see you, honey. I just want to be sure that _you_ are comfortable. That's my responsibility, that you not feel embarrassment. Do you understand?"

"I'm not at all embarrassed," he insisted, smiling shyly. "I like - to be put on display. To be enjoyed, for your pleasure."

James regarded him steadily. "I'd like to wash you, honey. Will you come with me down the hallway, so I can wash you?"

"As you wish," he said, holding out his hand for James to take.

"There's my good boy," James said, kissing him gently and taking the offered hand. "Come along now. You might like the shower."

Davis followed obediently, feeling the stretch of every mark on his body, not to mention the unmistakable ache of having been completely, thoroughly fucked, as James led him into the shower. The water was hot, and the spray hard, and the soap that James reached for was scented with something that made Davis feel somehow hungry.

"Is there anything I might do to - please you, sir?" he asked, still feeling shy.

"You stand there patiently," James growled. "I want to see all of these miles of skin in the daylight." He nodded at the clouded glass across the window that lit the shower stall.

Davis felt the sheltering bulk of his body as James leaned closer. "There might be more marks - ahh," he said, tone pleased. "There's one I missed in the light, last night." His tongue licked along another of the singletail marks, making Davis gasp and moan.

"God, that feels _incredible,"_ he sighed, leaning into each stroke of James's tongue.

James continued laving the marks left from the old whip marks, and then continued on to the marks he'd left himself, between the two straps. He had been slightly off center with one of the lashes from the groove strap, and the mark was perfectly centered between Davis' cheek and crease - and that he spent the most time upon, his tongue lavishing his appreciation.

Incredibly, Davis felt himself twitch and swell, and by the time James was done bestowing his attention on every one of Davis' marks, his cock was fully erect again. "My god," he murmured. "What you do to me."

James laughed in delight, the sound echoing through the chamber. The big man seated himself on the convenient ledge, drawing Davis down in his lap.

"Maybe I should see how this works," James suggested wickedly, wrapping his hand around Davis' cock, somehow exerting the exacting amount of pressure that balanced between painful and ecstatic. Davis couldn't resist the urge to thrust up into that pressure, the sore spots on his skin a compelling counterpoint to the sensation of James' hand on his erection.

"Oh yes," James encouraged. "I like to see that, boy. Do that again, please."

Davis didn't need a second invitation. He performed for James, giving himself to it entirely, showing off his body to best advantage in the morning light. "Do you like what you see, sir?" he asked, snapping his hips into James' stroking fist.

"Oh yes," James told him, biting down on Davis' shoulder. "Can you guess what I want to see, little boy?"

Davis turned his head, twisting and arching his back so that he both remained in James' lap and reached James' lips with his. "Might it involve my tongue, sir?" he asked, breathing the question into James' open mouth.

James kissed him deeply, then pulled back. "I like the taste of your lips, boy. I had a little something else in mind, though. Shall I tell you, Davis?"

"Please, sir," he said, smiling.

James bit firmly along the line of the smaller man's neck. "I want to watch you come, Davis. I want to see your cock while it's shooting, I want to see how far you go, how you arch, listen to you moan, so I know what that looks like. Do you think you can do that for me?"

Davis would have promised to crawl through fire or jump off buildings for this man, he was certain, if he'd been asked in that tone. As it was, it was easy to reply: "I'll do my best, sir."

James chuckled, low and dangerous, and his hand stripped along the length of Davis' cock, gripping it tight and close, just the way Davis liked it. "I know you will, honey. I want to see you come."

It wasn't more than a suggestion, not a demand in any way, but Davis felt it like an order, reverberating inside him, and he ached to respond, to fulfill James' every request, to please him in every way he could. His eyes, watching with such obvious pleasure, the closeness of his strong, broad body, and the quickening breath all served to fire his excitement, and it was an insanely short amount of time before he accelerated his thrusts into James' waiting hand, coming hard against the wall of the shower.

It was dark and quiet for a time after that.

He came to, to the sensation of a soapy washcloth gently smoothing along the planes of his body.

"Let's dry you off," came the deep murmur. Davis felt himself gently manipulated, the softness of a towel sweeping along his torso and limbs, and he ached at the care with which James patted around his flaccid cock, drying the sensitive member, along with his aching balls. He felt his eyes tear up as James gently dried Davis' thoroughly welted bottom.

He was boneless, half unaware, though he realized that James was helping him into a soft set of clothing, leading him back to not the dim room they'd slept in, but to the man's office, where James gently laid him on the couch.

"You are tired, Davis. Drink this, love-"

It was disgusting, whatever it was, too sweet and far to rich, but he was powerless to resist that voice. "Good boy. Now. Lie down. It will please me very much to watch you sleep."

He could do nothing but comply.

* * *

><p>The second time Davis woke that day, he was cradled in warmth, but he could tell immediately it wasn't another human beside him this time. He opened sleepy eyes and peered out from the nest of down and pillows, and saw James, working at his desk. He was looking very intently, almost fiercely, at the paper in front of him. He lay there for some time, just watching the man working, drinking in the sight of his forearms resting on the desk, the pen gripped in one strong hand, his back curved over his task.<p>

Davis closed his eyes, briefly, and opened them again, just to be sure he wasn't dreaming.

"You may fold up those blankets and come here, if you're awake," came the quiet command.

"Yes, sir," he said, emerging reluctantly from the warm covers. He was clean, and dry, and warm, and ached all over, inside and out. He felt spectacularly perfect.

"Right here, to the front of the desk," James told him, after the orders were obeyed.

Davis stood at attention, hands behind his back, watching James with a smile. "Sir."

"There you go," he said with satisfaction. "I believe Jesse will be downstairs in ten minutes, hoping to meet you for brunch. I do have responsibilities here, boy. Go downstairs with your partner, and let me work here, hey?"

"If you like, sir," he said, then hesitated for a moment. "Sir?"

"Yes, Davis?" James inquired gently.

He gazed into James blue eyes, trying not to hope too absurdly for an affirmative answer. "Do you think... well, I'm here for the rest of the week, and, perhaps, if you have a little time..."

"Stop," came the firm command. "Davis. I expect you to find me after you've assured your friend that you're all in one piece - and that you are content. If you find yourself still content after that conversation, you are to come and find me. Immediately. Tess is looking out for Jes- Carl. My apologies. She refers to him as Jesse, and it's difficult to think of him as Carl."

"Yes, sir," he said, basking in the warmth of his promise for time together. He turned to go, but James gave him pause.

"I wouldn't object to a kiss, before you go, boy." He waited as Davis crossed the space between them, and bent elegantly to press their lips together. "There you are. I expect you'll behave before Mistress Tess, if you see her, else I'll double anything she gives you."

"I'll be on my best behavior," he promised, and oddly, he realized he _meant_ it.

"I expect you will," James said, a smile crossing his face, going deeper into the lines of his weathered face than Davis had seen before. "Go on with you, I've work to do - just tonight and tomorrow, and then we're closed for a few days."

Davis let that comment warm him further as he walked through the hallway back to the Ranier room. _A few days._ It was the sweetest Christmas present he could have asked for.

* * *

><p>Davis found Carl already in the small dining room for Sunday brunch, looking up at him with surprise. "I guess I don't need to ask how things are going for <em>you,"<em> he said, with a smirk at Davis' appearance.

Davis felt the heat climbing his neck, and he averted his eyes as he sat down. Carl watched him carefully. "You're not sick, are you?"

"No," said Davis, the smile coming unbidden to his lips. "I feel entirely too good to be sick."

"That could be the endorphins," Carl said doubtfully, taking a bite of salmon. Then he paused, the bite unchewed, and pointed his fork at Davis. "You're in _love,"_ he accused.

Davis took a scone and tried to look completely unfazed. It didn't work very well. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are!" Carl insisted. "Holy shit, Davis, what the hell happened last night? Last I heard you and James were going _dancing,_ and now - look at you. You're practically floating."

"Pot, kettle," Davis retorted, and he watched Carl's own blush with mad glee. He smirked and leaned forward on his elbow. "I'd say your night didn't go quite as well as mine, but - you look better. Tess gave you a good spanking, hmmm?"

"None of your business," Carl snapped. "I was talking about _you."_

"Well." Davis let the events of last night - and this morning - and this morning _again -_ and _again -_ paint his face with delight. Carl's eyes grew steadily wider as he watched Davis' expression.

"Wow," he breathed. "You're completely _gone._"

"I really am," he agreed, the excitement overtaking his composure, and he leaned forward to share. "God, Carl, I feel like I'm eighteen again. You remember how I was. Like a kid in a candy store? This is a hundred times better than that. Jesus, it's like this man was _made_ for me."

"He's - feeling the same way?" Carl asked cautiously, still watching him.

"Seems like." Davis bit into the scone, which was excellent. He wasn't quite ready to say the words _I'm his boy,_ but he could hear them in his mind, which was enough.

"I want to talk to him," Carl said firmly.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you," Davis nodded.

"Good. And... yes, I got a spanking. And then some." His voice was sour. "But I know what I'm about, now."

"Yeah?" Davis raised an eyebrow. "Tell me more."

"I hope you don't disapprove," Carl said softly. "I want this, with Finn."

He nodded slowly, watching Carl's intent, focused expression. Davis knew that meant he was anxious. "Sounds like you've thought it through, then? Tess help you with that?"

"Yeah," said Carl. "Mostly. She's a devil." He shook his head. "She mostly made me figure it out, and let me lean on her when I needed, and got out that damn quirt when I dug my feet in."

"She gave you just what you needed," Davis said, nodding approvingly, taking another bite of scone.

"Yes," Carl said softly. "It's why I love her."

Davis nodded, reaching across the table for his hand. "She loves you, too, you know."

"Yes," Carl said, sounding more confident than he had in days. "I know." He gripped Davis' hand tightly, the affection for his old friend showing more than ever in that moment. "I love you, Davis."

"Honey," he said, a smile breaking over his face. "I love you, too. Always. This - this with Finn. You're sure he wants it?"

Carl gave his old friend the length of consideration the question deserved, looking over the issue from the safety of Davis' company. "Yes. That young man knows what he's about, too. He wants it. I'll go carefully."

"You'll need to," he said soberly. "But - yeah. I talked to him yesterday. He's not much of a kid anymore. Got a good head on his shoulders, and thinks about things. I think you're well matched." He smirked, reaching for the butter. "Now we just need to throw the two of you into a room and lock the door for a few days."

"Jesus," Carl moaned, laughing. "James must not have spanked you hard enough, brat." But here was no weight behind the threat.

Davis laughed, free and comfortable. "He did a pretty damn good job of it."

"Maybe I should check," Carl teased, shaking his head.

"Sorry," he couldn't resist saying. "My ass is spoken for."

"You _are _a brat. Maybe I should be coaxing you into comparing stripes, instead, so I can check on you despite your stubborn baloney, Davis."

"I don't know," he said casually. "Somehow I think James and I might be spending... more time together. A lot of time."

"How so," Carl asked, amused. Davis didn't respond for a moment, and Carl reached out for his hand again. "What's going on?"

"He's really incredible, honey," he said. "I think I'm going to be coming down here a lot. As often as I can. But..." Davis shrugged, looking faintly unhappy. "Lima's hours away from here. James and I both have critical, professional careers that are time consuming."

"I'm sure you'll find a way to make it work," Carl said encouragingly.

Davis nodded, unconvinced. "And Finn's still in school - that's limited time with them for both of us. And I love you, you still know how to make me feel better, even if we're not partners outside of the businesses."

"Davis," Carl said firmly. "You'll always be my partner. And I will never stop loving you, just the way Tess has never stopped loving me. Sometimes we've got rocky road in front of us, but I'm right here for you - and I'm depending on you to keep me from blasting off into the outer realms of idiocy, like you stopped me from going to Ruth Puckerman's funeral. Got it?

Davis shook his head in amusement. "It's a frightening day when you're depending on _me_ for rational decision-making, honey. But I'll do my best."

"I think I like it," Carl decided. "And you're smirking, so I know you like it too, you brat."

He tugged Davis to a standing position and put his arms around him. "I'm really happy for you," he said, leaning into the taller man's arms.

"Likewise," Davis agreed. "Merry Christmas, huh?"


	11. Crowded, prompt 6, Restraints

_(Author's note: My writing muse has been all but absent lately - as in, since the spring. Thank goodness for cowriters to help get me past rough patches. This chapter was cowritten with flinchflower. Most of these KW are somewhat AU, but this one is set in January 2010, concurrent with the Donutverse being written right now. Stay tuned for Gaga... someday. Warnings for Dom/sub, discipline, family drama and a bad pun. Enjoy! -amy and flynn)_

* * *

><p>Crowded (50 Kinky Ways #6: Restraints) - KurtPuck

Kurt only felt a little nervous bringing the drill and screw-in O-rings down from the tool cabinet to his bedroom. It was when Sarah paused in his doorway, watching him curiously, that he wished (not for the first time) for a _slightly_ more spacious, private house.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked, sounding more caustic than he liked to around Sarah, but she just shrugged.

"You don't think Tatenui's going to mind you putting holes in your headboard?"

"Dad's never minded me... redecorating." Now he was sounding defensive, and that was ridiculous, because he knew his father _had_ always let him make any changes to his room that Kurt wanted. He'd never had to wonder, though, if any of his choices were going to make his dad's head sweat. He considered what it would feel like to tell his father _I need something solid enough to which I can cuff my boyfriend_.

"Yeah, he probably wouldn't." Sarah grinned at him. "But I don't think you're going to tell him about this. Are you?"

Kurt didn't answer. He turned back to his frame, ignoring the preteen chuckles from their shared bathroom.

The rings felt secure; he didn't think he was going to need to add any glue. The walnut wasn't too solid to take his drill, but held the O-rings secure, and he'd been able to avoid the bird's-eye maple inlay around the edges. Like most of Kurt's expensive tastes, he felt this one had been completely justified. Although he doubted his father had considered _this_ particular advantage to solid hardwood construction.

Kurt took a deep breath, looking over his handiwork, and at the box under the bed that held the cuffs and short chains. That had been one hell of a conversation with Adam, but it had been quite informative. It hadn't been easy to bend the links in and out to attach the leash clips, and he'd cracked a nail doing so, but it was all ready.

Puck was lounging on the green couch, idle attention on the Playstation, his phone on the counter. Kurt slipped into the bathroom, and after a moment's contemplation unbuttoned and unzipped the skinny jeans for good measure. And then he picked up his phone.

_1 text message - Rachel X. Berry  
><em>_9:25 pm: Noah. My room, naked, kneeling on the bed in three minutes._

He had to take a deep breath before he hit send, and then he waited. Kurt put a hand over his mouth, hearing the desperate noise from Puck, and the resulting scramble to turn the TV and Playstation off and move into Kurt's room. Kurt had his eye on the time, and Puck had barely settled on the bed - his hands laced atop his head for good measure - when Kurt stepped through the door in under two and a half minutes. He let his own breath out slowly, so as not to startle Puck further, taking a few seconds of unashamed admiration before speaking to him in a decisive voice.

"You think I'm going to wait forever for you?"

"Not forever," Puck said. On the surface, he appeared completely at ease, but Kurt could see the telltale tension in his neck, the movement of his shoulders. "Just long enough." He cocked his head at Kurt. "Don't tell me you don't need this as much I do."

Kurt swallowed, trying to maintain his steely composure. "Do I have to gag you?"

Puck chuckled, tipping his head to the side to lock eyes with Kurt. "Yeah, well, I figured that would be coming at some point, after what you and Adam did. Whatever you want, baby. You know I won't fight you."

Kurt found he had no words. It was true; Puck had never been particularly resistant to his discipline, compared to the way he'd once responded to Finn. His words here to Kurt were almost sassy. But seeing him on the bed like that, waiting patiently for Kurt to take action, the tension evident in his posture but not interfering with the trust he clearly felt - Kurt was overwhelmed by the sudden rush of love and protective care he felt for his boyfriend. He focused. _Noah needs this, from me. I can't let myself get distracted._

The bed was plenty big for both of them, but Kurt stood on the floor, enjoying the extra height in his inch-and-a-half soles for just a few more moments before shedding his shoes. He unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, standing close enough to Puck that he could see the erratic pulse in his neck speed up. The words came out, almost before he knew what he was going to say.

"I'm going to buckle these cuffs on you now, Noah. You're going to rest on your elbows, with your chest here on this pillow, and I'm going to pull the chains tight enough that you won't be able to move."

Puck didn't drop his gaze, but Kurt watched his pupils dilate and saw his breathing change as he took in this instruction. "Okay," he said, then added, "Sir."

It wasn't the word that caused the atmosphere in the room to change, nor the connection between the two of them, which had escalated to the point of combustion. Rather, he was pretty certain Puck had been longing to call him that for days, but hadn't felt safe enough to do it. _And you've been wanting to hear it from him, too,_ he thought. _Admit it._

Puck gamely moved where Kurt put him, letting him shift his legs and shoulders and layer extra pillows under his torso until he was completely supported. It wasn't until he took the chain and hooked the leash clips onto the cuffs that Puck's expression turned anxious. "You, uh, sure about this?"

Kurt didn't even have to consider whether he should do it or not. He laid a flat hand on Puck's bare behind and gave him a good smack. Puck jumped, letting out a startled epithet.

"Are you questioning me?" Kurt said, his voice low and even.

"No sir," Puck replied hastily. Kurt watched the shiver trace down Puck's spine. It was clear Puck was more relaxed, even now, amidst the tension of doing _this_ at Kurt's house. It wasn't as though they'd never done it before, but in the past it had always been in the context of their lovemaking. This was - different. This was strictly discipline.

But it was more than that. He slid a hand under Puck's neck and jerked his chin up, watching his eyes go wide.

"This is for me," he said. "You might need it, sweetheart, but you can bet I'm not thinking much about that right now. I'm doing this because I want to. You're going to have to deal with that."

Puck opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out but a strangled whine. He shifted his weight from one knee to the other, spreading his legs a fraction wider and arching his back into Kurt's touch. Kurt felt his lips twitch into a smile. It was so incredibly satisfying to know that his instincts about Puck were right, but even more pleasurable to be able to be entirely selfish about his desires - and _still_ be able to satisfy his boyfriend.

Kurt responded to Puck's movement with another stinging smack, avidly watching his expression. He drank in Puck's wide-eyed bliss as he glanced at his target, matching up his handprints a second and a third time. Then he leaned forward and licked along the outline of one of the handprints, before thoughtfully pulling back and smacking his palm down again on that same spot. Puck was responding louder now, not able to contain his yelps and moans, and each one dug in under Kurt's skin and drove the tension up another notch.

His hand was warm now, fingertips tingling slightly, and the sensation sent a shiver up his own spine, the warmth intensifying into a rush of desperate arousal. The sounds from Puck were growing louder. The rattle of the chain gave him a fleeting thought of Sarah earlier. He didn't think he could bear it if she were listening next door, not with the history of abuse in their family. No matter how wise or jaded Sarah was about life, she was still only eleven. He was going to have to do something about this.

Kurt glanced around, eyes narrowing, and focused on a bamboo scarf that was draped over his headboard, one from which he'd desperately tried method after method to remove the stains. It was long enough...

He reached out and grabbed the scarf, leaning forward over Puck's back, pressing into his reddened buttocks. It made Puck swear in sudden shock, thrusting backwards. Kurt didn't follow through on that hopeful movement; instead, he quickly twirled the scarf in his hands and brought it around, small, pale hands offering up the dark grey cloth to Puck's mouth. Puck stared down at the scarf.

"Shit," he whispered, his jaw slack and eyes like poker chips.

"Now." Kurt spat out the terse reply, his own eyes narrowed. He maintained a commanding tone, even as his other hand caressed the reddened curve of Puck's ass. Puck took a strangled gulp of air and opened his mouth wide just before Kurt landed another smack.

"There's my good boy, Noah," Kurt all but purred. Puck ducked his head, and Kurt smiled again, pulling the gag tight around the back of his neck, tying it snugly in a highwayman's hitch. He was glad Adam had suggested he practice his knotwork.

He recalled something else Adam had done, and unleashed a flurry of light swats across Puck's bottom, each round getting closer and closer to the inside of Puck's thighs, his fingertips wrapping into the curve of the inside of Puck's bottom. The whole thing was beginning to glow an extremely pleasing shade of dark pink, contrasting with Puck's pale thighs.

Puck was breathing heavily through the scarf. Kurt took a moment to sit back and remove his own shirt, carefully draping it over the headboard, eyes narrowed, even as Puck desperately tried to control his breath and the suggestive thrusting of his hips.

"Hold still," he said mildly. It wasn't as though Puck's motions were a problem. Of the myriad attractive suggestions that presented themselves, Kurt simply wasn't certain what he wanted next. He was just beginning to raise a hand to act on the winning thought when the door opened.

He turned his face to the door to meet startled blue eyes under the familiar ball cap, one rumpled flannel sleeve covering the arm that held the door open - though after a few seconds it wavered as the expression on Burt's face changed. His face went red as he glanced from Puck to Kurt, and then attempted to find someplace more comfortable to look. It finally settled on a spot just over the top of Kurt's head.

"Supper's in ten minutes, boys," he said, voice sounding a little funny to Kurt's ears - or maybe it was just the lack of oxygen in the room. Either way, Kurt found himself with legs too weak to stand. He sank to the edge of the bed, feeling the comforting weight of Puck's bare back behind him.

"Uh... baby?" Puck brushed his knee against Kurt, the chain rustling. "Maybe you should uncuff me."

* * *

><p>Burt's tread was heavy on his way up the stairs. He paused at the top landing to lift the brim of his cap and wipe the sweat away from his forehead. When he settled it properly back on his head, he focused on the room - and on Sarah, who was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked under herself, sketchpad in her lap.<p>

He crossed the room to her and sat down on the couch, taking a deep breath. She hadn't moved from her position, and her eyes were locked fiercely on the edge of the television set as she sketched.

"Sarah."

She looked up at that, that little half smirk that always made him feel uncomfortably suspicious creeping onto her face. "Tatenui."

"You're up here, and not downstairs."

One eyebrow went up. "Yeah. Duh."

He gritted his teeth. "Are you telling me you knew what was - what they were - and you didn't _say_ something when you saw me head down there?"

What had been a half-smirk bloomed into a full-blown grin. Burt had to struggle with his instinct to snap at her. _Sarah isn't Kurt. I can't treat them the same._

"Next time," he said with forced good humor, _"s__ay something_. The more something you say, the more chocolate ice cream with cinnamon there might be in the freezer."

She brightened at the prospect, but the expression didn't last long; it settled back into doubtful within a few seconds. "I really don't think you want me to tell you every time the two of them are doing _that_ downstairs."

Burt sighed. His head suddenly felt three times as heavy, and he rested it in one hand. "Look, I have ears. And I might be a little naive, but I'm not an idiot. I've heard it. But you're telling me it's - what? Every night?" He bristled. "Is it bothering you?"

"Whoa there, Tatenui." She tapped her pencil on the back of his hand, which he realized was gripping her wrist. He let go, trying to relax. "It's totally not every night. But if Kurt can put that satisfied-stupid look on Noah's face, I don't give a sh- a crumb cake about what they're doing in Kurt's bedroom. He makes him _happy,_ and he calms him down." She shrugged, leaning back into the curve of the couch. "It's all good."

He felt the tension ebb from his shoulders. "Yeah. Okay." He flexed his hand, and smiled a little as her fingers crept into his palm and interlaced with his. "Looks like I could take a lesson in being flexible from my - from you."

"No worries." She squeezed his hand and planted a quick kiss on his cheek before settling back down to her sketchbook. "But if you don't want Kurt to end up scarred for life, you might want to say something to him when he comes upstairs that isn't _so, how long have you been spanking that Puckerman kid?"_

* * *

><p>Kurt remained frozen for a long moment after Burt left, but as Puck began to laugh, Kurt whipped around, smacking a firm hand down on his naked butt. It sent Puck plummeting back into that half-shocked, half-subdued state with alacrity. Kurt frowned at him.<p>

"Much better. Now. You heard my father. Let me see those wrists; we can always put the cuffs back on after supper." He sniffed. "I'm not at all certain we're through here."

Puck jerked back. "Kurt - what the fuck?"

Kurt smacked him on the behind again, this time with all his strength, which resulted in a yelp.

"Let me see your wrists." He held out an imperious hand, which netted him immediate compliance. "Good boy," he praised, unbuckling the cuffs. He reached down onto the floor, noticing the carelessly discarded clothing - that merited an additional set of swats, but he would save them for later - and gathering them up. "Let's get you dressed and head upstairs for supper."

"But I -"

Kurt took hold of a handful of Puck's shirt and hauled him in for a kiss, making sure not to release him until he was thoroughly pliable and breathing unevenly. Without another word, Puck took the t-shirt from Kurt and pulled it over his head. He watched Kurt fastidiously take his button-down from where he'd draped it over the headboard and slip it on, exhibiting complete calm.

Unfortunately, it was entirely show, and Kurt knew his dad would know it, too. He wished, not for the first time, that he could maintain his composure under pressure. He'd seen Puck do it a million times: stroll into some sort of embarrassing situation as if it didn't even exist. But whenever something happened to Kurt, he just lost his cool. It was infuriating.

He glanced at Puck, who had recovered himself along with his clothing. Puck's eyes softened, and he had the audacity to _wink_ at him. Kurt sputtered, redoubled his scowl - which was probably not very effective, given that he was trying not to grin in the middle of it - and jerked his head at the stairs. Puck reached for Kurt's hand, and together they trudged up to the kitchen to face the music.

Burt was standing there, as Kurt had expected, trying not to avert his eyes. Puck paused at the top of the stairs, looking ready to explain - then gave an alarmed sniff, dropped Kurt's hand and headed straight past Burt and Sarah into the kitchen.

Kurt glanced at his dad with an apologetic grimace. "Priorities."

Burt tightened his mouth. "Just move it to the table, kids." He laid an awkward hand on Sarah's shoulder, even as he shook his head at his son. Sarah was clearly smirking at him, and Kurt gave her one focused glare before making an effort to sit calmly across from his dad. He waited for nearly twenty interminable seconds before Burt spoke again.

"Kurt... you've gone through a lot of... _changes_ in the past couple months. And I've been trying to be accommodating about them all. You know I respect your right to privacy. It's your room, and what you do behind that door is up to you, as long as it's legal and... consensual." He had to force out the last word between clenched teeth, and he looked straight into Kurt's eyes long enough to see his jerky nod. "Okay. So you're clearly doing some - things - with Puck that I don't know anything about. Let me be _very clear_ that I don't want to know details. But you're going to have to tell me, _right now,_ that Puck was one hundred percent okay with what was going on down there."

"I was, man," said Puck from the kitchen doorway. Burt and Kurt both turned to face him, standing there with his arms crossed, wooden spoon in his hand. The earnest, adoring expression alone on Puck's face was enough to make Kurt blush scarlet. Sarah's snicker didn't help in the least. He pointed his spoon at Kurt, smiling lightly. "Kurt didn't ask. He doesn't have to. He knows what I need, even when I don't."

Burt coughed, but he looked mollified, at least. "I'm gonna have to trust that you know what you're talking about. This is so far beyond me, I don't think I can even see it without squinting."

"I suspect you saw plenty," Kurt muttered. He didn't flinch away from his dad's snort. "There's no point in denying any of it, Dad. So go ahead - tell me I'm too young to be doing things like this. Tell me you don't want to hear it, that you don't want to know."

"Kurt," Burt began, but Kurt cut him off with an accusing finger.

"No! Because the last time _I _recall this conversation came up, you told Noah you wanted to know all of it. From him, anyway." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "But not from your son."

"Hey." Puck didn't so much walk over to Kurt as he was drawn there, as though by a magnetic force. He stood behind Kurt's chair and leaned over, wrapping his arms around his chest and resting his chin in the crook of Kurt's neck. "Since when is this a contest? I'm not trying to take your dad away from you."

Burt sighed. "Since when is _any_ of this about what you're doing in the bedroom? As long as you guys are both okay with it, and Sarah's not losing sleep, I don't think anybody gives a damn about that." He reached across the table and grasped Kurt's hand firmly, tugging until Kurt looked up at him. "Really."

Kurt willed himself not to cry. He leaned into Puck's arms, wishing Finn were there to hold his hand, or that Adam could whisper _it's okay_ into his ear. "So if you don't care what we do... what _is_ this about?" he made himself ask, trying to tone down the bratty sneer that had crept into his voice.

Burt gave him a reproachful look. "It's about talking. Communication, right? That thing that's gone wrong between you and Finn and made him move back to Carole's house?" He squeezed Kurt's hand again. "I think we could all use a little more - a little _better_ communication, if we're expecting to make this family work."

This time Kurt didn't try to stop the tears. He squeezed his eyes shut and let them drip on the table in front of him, and reached over his shoulder to pull Puck closer against him. "You're right," he choked out. "I'm sorry, Dad, I didn't mean -"

"It's all right, son." Burt's quiet voice was calm. "I'm not going tell you you're too young. I let you go to California, didn't I? And meet that Adam..." His words trailed off, and he blanched momentarily. "Uh. Kurt." He cast a desperate appeal, this time at Puck. "You and... Adam? Are the two of you...?"

"Hell, if you're gonna ask, Burt, you might want to wonder about Kurt and _Finn,"_ Puck said. He sounded a little petulant. Some remote part of Kurt's brain carefully added a few more strokes to part two of Puck's spanking.

Burt grappled visibly with this for a few seconds before he sagged back into his chair, letting Kurt's hand go. "I - already know about Finn. And... that other fellow he's seeing. Really, Tess has given me enough details on _that _to make it impossible for me to ever see any of you as _just kids_ again. All I ask is that you give your old man a break for occasionally coming unglued."

Sarah unfolded from her seat and padded over to Burt, wrapping her arm through his protectively. "There's nothing cooler than a dad who actually listens to his kids." She stared at Kurt. "You totally know that, don't you?"

Kurt rose from his chair and all but scrambled around the table to stand beside his dad. Burt didn't hesitate; he just opened his arms. They'd never felt more welcoming to Kurt as they folded around his back.

"I love you, Kurt," Burt said in a broken whisper. "That's never going to change, no matter what you do, or who you do it with. This is your home, and it always will be, no matter how old you get. And I will go to my grave promising that you, and the people you love, will always be welcome in it."

He held on, as tight as he could, for a few more seconds before letting Kurt go. Puck's arms were waiting for him, and Kurt let himself rest there, breathing, until he felt sturdy enough to stand on his own. Sarah and Puck watched them, two mirrored sets of eyes and solemn faces looking back at him. Kurt's stomach still clenched to see the tears on his dad's cheeks, but he returned Burt's smile with one of his own.

"I don't think I could ask for more than that," Kurt said.

Burt pushed out his chair and stood with a nod. "Okay, then. I think we'll be okay. Just... " Kurt would swear, later, he heard his dad chuckle. "See if you can show a little restraint."

They all managed to wait until Burt had disappeared into his office to burst into helpless, gut-wrenching paroxysms of laughter.


	12. Fundraiser, prompt 19, Handcuffs

_(Author's note: I've been writing Carl/Davis/Shelby's backstory, and I just posted the first part of that, entitled By Grace My Heart Grows Stronger. If you don't want spoilers, read that first, although it's not complete. As with all the KW, this is heavy on the m/m physical stuff, also mild D/s and discipline. Thanks to Flynn Anthony (flinchflower) for writing this with me. Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>Summer 1993, Ann Arbor, MI<strong>

"So what's this fundraiser all about, anyway?" Davis stirred the oatmeal once before turning down the burner and leaving it to cook. He cocked his head at Carl, seated at the kitchen table. "You said it's for - what, disabled vets? I get why that would be important to you. But how does it work?"

"The fundraising team will be bringing in friends and family, in and out all day - there's a bank of phones set up, and they'll debate with the emcee as to how much any individual person will raise," said Carl. "They'll pick people up, transport them there and back, as a nod to the part of the community that might not be able to get there otherwise."

"Yeah, okay," Davis said absently. He got as far as getting the bread out and putting it in the toaster before he turned to stare in confusion at Carl. "Wait. You want me to help with this, but - _what_ exactly do I have to do?"

Carl shrugged. "Call family and friends, explain what the charity event is for, and ask if they'll donate. Not that hard."

"Oh. Well, I guess I can do that." He relaxed a little, still sending suspicious glances across the kitchen at his roommate. Carl usually came up with innocuous plans that somehow turned into the most complicated, confusing activities.

"Great!" Carl flashed him a smile that always seemed to make Davis weak in the knees when it was trained on him. "It's a really important issue," Carl continued on earnestly. "It'll be fun, you'll see. The emcee is awesome."

"You know I'm happy to help. My dad was a medical corpsman in the Navy, back in Vietnam. I'm sure he'll be willing to donate, and his three brothers." Davis got the jam out of the fridge, thinking. "My aunts, probably."

"See? That's exactly why you'll be great for this. Thanks for helping, I really appreciate it." Davis watched Carl gathering up his bag and books, heading for the door. "I'll see you over at the Union after lunch; we booked a room on the second floor."

"Have a good day," Davis called. Then he noticed the toast. "Hey - don't you want some breakfast?"

"Have to skip it today. Thanks, anyway." Carl was already halfway down the stairs.

Davis wasn't worried about calling his family to ask for money, especially not for a military fundraiser. He even considered including Bebe's family; after all, they were still married, even if she'd practically abandoned him and Carl to go live with her sister after she'd gotten pregnant. He squirmed a little, spreading the butter on the toast. _Yeah, it's Carl's baby. So what?_

He sighed. He was probably not going to be married to her much longer, that's what. She wasn't interested in sticking around to raise this baby, even if Carl wanted to, and she wasn't going to let Carl have her either. She'd already been very clear about what was going to happen with the baby - and what Bebe said usually went. _My sister can adopt her,_ she'd said._ She took Jesse when Davis and I had him. Rachel would love another baby. _

But Carl wasn't at all sure he wanted his daughter to be raised by Bebe's sister all the way out in New York. He'd already mentioned his friends Leroy and Hiram in conversation more than once. They were looking to adopt, and they were not only successful and secure, but they were involved in the kink community just as Carl was. Carl was pretty persuasive, himself. If Carl could manage to win an argument with Bebe, it might be possible that their baby would go to live with Leroy and Hiram.

Davis shook his head. This wasn't the first time Bebe had given up a baby for adoption. No, the first time, it had been his own son - Jesse - who'd been handed off to Rachel and Nathan. He and Bebe had only been high school students at the time; he knew it had been the right decision. He leaned heavily on the counter and sighed. Just because it had been a good decision hadn't made it any easier.

Davis shook off the melancholy mood. Today, he wouldn't think about Bebe, or her sister, or the baby. Today was about Carl, and how Davis could help him raise this money. It would be fine.

* * *

><p>Harrison shook his head. "Let me get this straight. I'm going to cuff him, use the Voice on him... and you're saying he has <em>no<em> idea he wants this?"

Carl stood next to Harrison, grinning up at the big man. "Yeah. And he'll resist, you know. Just remind him that I'm here, and I'm expecting him to follow through."

Carl thought about the handcuffs in his back pocket. It was the perfect scheme. An innocuous jail and bail fundraiser - the details of which he'd managed to gloss over while adhering to perfect truth this morning. He was rather looking forward to seeing Davis in the handcuffs into which Harrison would fasten him. Then he'd bring him to the "jail" that was set up on a platform at the front of the room, where he'd be ordered by Clyde the police officer to raise a certain amount of money.

"No problem, Carl."

Clyde raised an eyebrow, linking an arm through Harrison's. "And when Harrison drags Davis back here?"

Carl rubbed his hands together gleefully. "When he comes up before you, sir Judge, sir, set his bail amount _high_. His dad is a vet, and he's got a big family."

Clyde rolled his eyes. "I'm just about ready here. Did you get the copies of the forms?"

"I did. All right. Thank you, and I'll see you later - I'm on transport duty for an hour, but I'll make sure I'm here when you capture Davis." Carl strolled back down into the room, to the man who'd been appointed as record keeper, to check out who he was being sent to pick up. The cuffs chafed against his ass through his jeans. He liked the feeling. Hopefully Davis would too.

Right on schedule - Davis was nothing if not punctual - he arrived, peering around the large room. Carl hid behind a pillar, watching as Clyde approached him purposefully.

Clyde pulled his badge out of his pocket, along with the handcuffs, and Davis' eyes went wide. "Clyde- shit, man, I-" Carl could just hear their conversation above the noise of the room.

"That's enough out of you, boy," Clyde barked. "You need to go up before the judge, let him set the penalties."

"But I - what did I do?"

Clyde looked at the man, eyes twinkling. "You volunteered, Davis. Now come on, don't make me throw you over my shoulder and have to do this the hard way."

He got a firm, flat hand between Davis' shoulder blades, propelling him forward fast enough to stumble, cuffing his hands securely behind his back. He twisted his hands in the cuffs, but they didn't move much.

"Here we are, boy," Clyde said with some relish, leaning heavily on the word _boy._ "Up against the judge here..."

Davis looked up at Judge Harrison with wide eyes, blinking back what were threatening to be tears. Harrison, meanwhile, was very convincing, gazing down at him with a stern, forbidding expression. His strong bass voice boomed out, and Davis actually cringed.

"I see you're in a spot of trouble here, Davis. Carl was good enough to give up your name to us. I think I've got just the sentence for you. Fifteen hundred dollars, in three hours - or there'll be consequences, understand?"

He licked his lips. "I... what?"

"You did volunteer to help with the fundraiser?

"Uh, yes, but-"

"So you're committed, boy. Clyde'll set you up with a telephone and the forms for the donations - and, Clyde? This one looks like he might be a runner - you might want to cuff him to the table." Harrison winked.

The cluster of people watching the goings on laughed, and a few of them applauded. Davis swallowed, his face pale, but two red spots appeared on his cheeks. He followed Clyde without complaint, his head drooping between his shoulders.

Carl managed to restrain himself from laughing out loud, aware that Davis was uncomfortable. He was confident that the boy would relax as he began making calls, speaking with family members and friends. His plan was unfolding excellently so far. He found himself a seat in the back of the rows of chairs set up for the audience.

"Your poor, straight roommate looks more terrified than angry," Carl heard, and he turned to see Leroy Berry sitting next to him, smiling and nodding at the "stage."

"I don't think he really understood all the... _the details_ about this fundraiser," Carl murmured, and Leroy hummed awareness. "It was a surprise. A purposeful one, perhaps, but his reaction is genuine."

Leroy narrowed his eyes. "What kind of reaction were you expecting, exactly?"

"Watch," Carl replied smoothly.

* * *

><p>Davis' first call was to his dad, who chuckled when Davis explained what was going on, and promised him five hundred dollars outright. He looked up and caught Carl smiling at him in the crowd. Hiram and Leroy were in the audience as well; they gave him a little wave. He smiled weakly back; he didn't actually feel like smiling, but he never wanted to be less than polite.<p>

Clyde strolled by, a nightstick in his hand that he was tapping in his palm, and he stopped, seeing Davis writing.

"Got one already, Davis?"

Davis nodded.

"All hear! The prisoner has begun to make amends! Five hundred dollars, to the disabled veterans fund; let's hear it for prisoner Davis!"

There was a wide smattering of applause from all around the room, and he smiled tentatively. _Maybe this wouldn't be so difficult after all._

The rest of the family wasn't quite as forthcoming, he soon found out. He felt like he was drowning in a stack of ten, twenty, or thirty dollar donations. A thousand dollars was going to take forever.

On top of everything else, the heavy sensation of the cuff around his left wrist was beginning to make him feel funny. It wasn't _discomfort,_ exactly, but he was having trouble concentrating on what he was doing. The way it tugged at his wrist and restricted his movement was distracting. More than distracting, he realized with dismay - it was sending tingling shivers down the backs of his thighs, and there was a persistent tightening in his groin. He gritted his teeth and tried to focus.

Carl seemed to be watching as his discomfort grew. At one point he strolled on up, speaking briefly to Clyde. Clyde came back to Davis, unlocking the handcuff, though he didn't unlock the one on Davis' wrist. "We'll trust Carl to take you for a break, it's an hour and a half. Two hundred and fifty left to go, boy, you're doing a good job. Go on, get some water, have a bathroom break - I'm sure Carl will help you." And with that, he snapped the handcuff back on, so that Davis' hands were linked securely behind his back.

He was too busy blushing to see Clyde hand the key off to Carl.

* * *

><p>The bathroom was just down the hallway and around the corner, but Carl took him along the back hallway to the mens' room on the third floor instead, not wanting Davis to feel any more uncomfortable being on display in front of the whole campus like this. No matter what he thought Davis might want, Carl was very clear that he was pushing boundaries about consensual experiences here. <em>And no matter how lovely he might look in those cuffs.<em>

"You're doing fine," he said quietly, close enough to Davis that he would hear without being obvious. Carl watched Davis' head sink lower as Carl guided him into the bathroom, one hand on his shoulder.

"I'm _not_ doing _fine,"_ Davis snapped. "You're the one who made me do this. I had no idea what was happening until Clyde threw those c-cuffs on me."

Carl blinked, astonished. Davis never spoke in any kind of an angry tone, but right now, he was clearly pissed.

"Davis, it's a _fundraiser_. I explained that to you."

Davis glared, struggling against the cuffs, and banged into the edge of the sink. He swore. "You didn't say I'd have to - in front of everybody, on the stage? Wearing _these?_ What kind of a - I'm not like you, Carl, I don't do this kind of thing..._"_

"I don't see how you could have missed that," Carl said calmly. "I told you there'd be an emcee there, I explained quite clearly. And what the hell? Davis - you're a _dancer._ I've seen you on stage performing in front of hundreds more people than are in that room today - who, by the way, applauded for your successes? And everyone else brought into the room was cuffed too."

Davis' breath was coming shallow now, his teeth bared in a grimace. "You have no idea how it feels to be up there, knowing everybody's watching me be - when I'm feeling -" He paused, staring at Carl with a clear appeal on his face. But Carl wasn't giving him an inch.

"Feeling like what?" Carl asked.

"Like I'm in the fucking bedroom with my wife, that's what!" Davis exploded. Carl took a step back, trying not to crowd him, but the bathroom was small, and he could only avoid contact for so long. "Nobody else needs to see _that._ It's private. But I know everybody could tell, Carl... it was _embarrassing. _They could see me right under the table."

"Yeah," Carl said, his voice low. "I could see. It was hot, man."

Davis stopped his next sentence before it began, his eyes widening.

Carl cleared his throat. "You're supposed to be taking a break." He nodded at the urinals and smiled slyly. "I could give you a hand there, if you want." He laid a hand on Davis' shoulder.

"I -" For a moment, Carl thought Davis might take him up on the offer. He looked so torn, his wanting palpable. But then he dropped his eyes and shuddered out a breath. "No thanks," he said flatly. "I don't do that."

Carl pulled the key from his pocket, unlocking Davis' right hand only, and opening one of the stall doors.

"There you go, not a problem," Carl told him. "You can take care of it yourself. I'll be outside when you're done." He went to close the door behind him, and stopped as he heard Davis' desperate words, begging him.

"Please - don't leave me alone."

"All right," he reassured Davis. "I won't." Carl looked around, finally choosing to lean against the closed stall door. He could hear Davis' breathing inside, the shuffle of his feet, the slight rustle of his khakis as he unzipped them and let them fall around his knees. Carl closed his eyes, trying not to dwell too heavily on the image of Davis without pants, or what he was probably doing on the other side of the door.

He hesitated, then spoke as quietly and calmly as he could. "You seemed surprised that I was watching you on the stage, Davis. I've been sleeping with your wife for over half a year. We've been housemates for most of that time. Surely it hasn't escaped your notice that you're an attractive young man, or that I've been paying attention to you."

He heard Davis' breath catch, and resume, double time, accompanied by a low groan. Carl smiled to himself.

"Yes. I've always been interested. It was never just Bebe that I was attracted to. But I wasn't sure how you felt - I've respected those boundaries - and now I want them clarified, so I can be certain that I'm doing the right thing."

"Cl-clarified?" he heard, Davis' voice shaking. "I don't - are you asking me - Carl, you know I don't feel like that about guys."

Carl half shrugged to himself. "How can you know if you've never tried?" He dropped his voice lower, almost whispering, leaning closer against the stall door. "Don't tell me you're not thinking about it right now. Don't tell me you didn't consider saying yes, when I offered a moment ago."

Davis was silent, even the sounds of his body going still. Carl waited for a long, tense moment. Finally he sighed.

"Come on out of there. You need to get back to the phones, and after that, we can go home and talk it over."

"I don't... think I can do that," Davis said, sounding apologetic. "Not... no. I can't."

"You can and you will. Get out here, Davis. Stop hiding."

Another long silence. And then he heard rustling and zipping, the latch on the door opened, and Davis stepped out of the stall, red-faced and avoiding Carl's eyes.

Carl reached out and put a hand on the back of his neck, steering him out and over to the sinks, where he stood behind Davis. Davis didn't move, and Carl waited another moment before reaching around him to turn on the taps.

"Go on. Wash up."

"Nobody needs to see me like this," he protested, thrusting his hands under the water.

"Like what?" Carl inquired mildly.

"Oh, give me a - like _this?"_ Davis snapped, gesturing at his obvious erection.

Carl didn't think about it, he just brought his hand back and slapped Davis' ass, hard.

"_Davis."_

Davis's reaction was dramatic and immediate. He put out his hands to clutch the sink, his wet hands scrabbling for purchase. His breath huffed out in one quick exhale, and he stared into the mirror, meeting Carl's gaze over his shoulder, his own eyes round as dinner plates.

"Yes," Carl said. "I thought so. You are going to dry your hands, go back out to the telephones, and finish the job you volunteered for. Then we'll go home, and we _will_ talk about this, Davis, mark my words." Carl flinched a little to himself, hearing one of Tess' pet phrases slip out so easily and naturally.

"Yes - okay." Davis barely moved, but his eyes shifted to take in Carl's hands, his stance, his expectant expression.

"Now, are you coming? Or I could always spank you properly, I can be quick about it."

"_Carl!"_ Davis whispered, but he went without any further fuss, seeming a little more at ease. His hands went back behind him, one wrist clasping the other. Carl was certain he wasn't even aware of it. His eyebrow raised, but Carl took the silent plea for what it was, and fastened the cuffs back on.

And then he led Davis back into the room, to mild applause, and handed the boy off to Clyde.

* * *

><p>They were both silent in the car on the way back to the apartment. Davis ignored a call from Bebe. Carl was watching him carefully, but he didn't seem upset. Davis, on the other hand, wasn't sure he was ever going to be able to look his roommate in the eye again.<p>

"You made your quota in record time," Carl said, flicking on his turn signal. "Good job."

"Thanks," Davis said softly. "I'm - well, I'm glad I could help."

Carl pulled the car into the drive-thru of a fast food joint, ordering burgers and fries for both of them. He handed Davis' food to him with a stern look.

"Get some of that down, please."

Davis didn't argue. He just ate the burger, even though it wasn't the kind of food he usually chose for himself. By the time he looked up again, the fries were halfway gone, too. He gazed down at the empty wrapper in surprise.

"Guess I was hungry?" he said. Carl nodded, taking a fry for himself.

"Some things take a lot of energy out of you. Why don't you go first in the shower. I'll clean up out here. I want to talk to you before you go to bed."

Carl wasn't looking at him when he said it, but Davis felt like he'd been reprimanded. He flinched, thinking with hot embarrassment about the moment in the bathroom, and felt a twinge of shameful response.

"All right," he muttered. He slunk into the house, going straight to the bathroom and stripping off his clothes, trying desperately not to give into his body's confusing desires. _I'm married,_ he thought, soaping his legs and stomach and chest, keeping his hands away from the space between his legs, _and I love my wife. No matter what else I might... want. God._

He was safely back in boxers and a t-shirt and covered by sheet and blanket by the time Carl came in and sat on the edge of his bed. Carl put a hand on his ankle, which was enough to make his heart do funny things, and handed him a cup of water.

"Drink," he said softly, and Davis did. He couldn't avoid watching Carl, watching _him _swallowing the water, and breathed a little faster as he thought about Carl's words to him in the bathroom. _You're an attractive man, and I've noticed you. _

"So..." Carl reached in his back pocket and took out a pair of - _gah - _handcuffs. They were not unlike the pair the police officer had attached to his left wrist this afternoon. He watched Carl dangle them casually from one finger, and gulped. "These... were more than just restraints today. Weren't they?"

He couldn't bring himself to lie to Carl. And it wasn't as though Carl wouldn't understand, considering his second profession. "Yeah," he said, his voice low.

Carl nodded, and shifted a little closer on the bed toward him. Davis tried not to draw away, but just sitting there, feeling his _presence,_ with this new awareness of something more between them - it was almost too much.

"I won't lie. I suspected you wanted that." Carl gave him a faint smile as Davis' eyes widened. "I just needed confirmation." He ran his hands up Davis' ankle to his knee. Davis heard himself make a small noise. "I'm going to offer to put these back on you, now."

He felt suddenly dizzy, like he'd been shoved off the edge of the bed. "Why?" he blurted.

Carl stood up. "Because you want them. Because you need them. Because you would never ask for them, and I know how it is to need something you can't ask for." His gaze intensified, and Davis took a breath. "Because I want to."

"O-okay," Davis said.

He sat, passive and tense, as Carl took his arm and pulled him forward, onto his knees. Any ground he'd gained toward greater self-control was immediately lost in the moment Carl pulled his hands behind his back. He heard Carl chuckle quietly.

"I told Bebe once that you weren't my type." Carl's hands were warm and strong and moved with confidence, snapping the cuffs around his wrists. "That may be the least believable lie I ever told."

Davis had no response to that, but he felt like he had to say something. "Oh."

"Yeah. On top of you being gorgeous and tall and intelligent, I've always had a thing for submissive men." Carl stroked a hand down Davis's back, making every nerve along the way light up. Davis struggled to keep his breath even. "Come on. Lie down here against your pillow."

Davis tried to arrange his hands in a comfortable position behind his back, but eventually he just gave up and decided to be uncomfortable. There wasn't anything _comfortable_ about this situation. He avoided Carl's gaze until Carl took his chin in his fingers and made him look at him.

"In the bathroom," he said. "I offered to help you take care of this. I gave you a choice."

"Yeah," Davis whispered.

Carl leaned in closer. "It will always be your choice. You can always say no, and I'll always listen. Understood?"

"Yes," he said, a little louder.

Carl held up the key in his fingers, right in front of Davis' nose. Then he turned and threw it into the hallway, where it made a clink against the wall. Davis sat in shocked silence, watching as he turned back to him.

"I'm going to offer again, now." Carl laid his hand against Davis' jaw, running his fingers down to his chest, his stomach. Davis's hips bucked up, seeking contact, and he blushed crimson, expecting Carl to laugh, but instead he heard him moan.

"What are you doing?" Davis asked, feeling a little frantic.

"I'm going to take off your shorts," Carl said, kneeling on the bed in front of him, "and give you the best blowjob of your life. And I think I can say that with confidence, because I know exactly what kind of blowjobs your wife gives, and honey, she could use some practice."

Davis shuddered at the sensation of Carl's warm breath on his stomach. "I can't - I don't -"

"It's okay to want it. It doesn't have to mean more than just this. Two people, needing something." Carl carefully drew his boxers down over his hips, lifting them over his ass and down his legs. "Go on - tell me you _don't _want it."

It would be absurd for him to try, given how hard he was, and the way he strained toward Carl's mouth. "But how can it _not mean_ anything more?" he choked. "God, you have me - I'm handcuffed on my bed and you're kneeling between my legs. That _means something."_

Carl moaned again, and Davis almost passed out at the sensation of Carl's soft stubble against the head of his cock. "You don't have to think about that now. Just feel. You want it? Say yes."

"Yes," he cried out. "Please, fuck, _yes."_

It was probably less than fifteen seconds in all, between the moment Carl's mouth closed over his cock and the last wrenching thrust of his orgasm, but Davis felt like he would always remember every moment of it, the heat and slickness and steady pressure on all the exact right spots. Carl didn't even flinch at Davis coming in his mouth.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hide from Carl, knowing he couldn't. When he opened them again, Carl was off the bed, picking up the key, unlocking the cuffs. It wasn't until his arms came around Carl's back that Davis realized he was crying.

"It's okay, honey, I'm here, I've got you." He pulled Davis down beside him on the bed, wrapping him up tight. "You're such a good boy... letting me take care of you like that."

Davis let him wipe his eyes and pull his shorts back up, but he wouldn't let go of Carl, not even to snag the blanket. Carl ended up using his foot to pull it up high enough to drape over Davis' shoulders.

"You knew I wanted the cuffs," Davis said, between shaky breaths. "You tricked me into doing that fundraiser."

"I suspected," Carl clarified. Davis could feel that he was hard against his leg, but Carl wasn't moving, wasn't asking for more.

"You _suspected_ I would get turned on by getting cuffed and being on that stage?" He glared at Carl, but it was more reproach than anger. "Carl, it's not like I've never heard of men loving men. I'm a dancer. I'm in theater. Why were you so sure I was wrong about being straight?"

"Davis, I have eyes. I knew it from the first day we met. Watching you and Bebe together, I could tell what you wanted, what you needed, even if you couldn't. And honestly... I thought, if anybody could get you to admit you were anything other than straight, it would be Harrison. Doesn't he have a hell of a sexy voice?"

Davis groaned. "God. And you said he's a real judge?"

"In a way." Carl propped himself up on one elbow, smiling down on Davis. He didn't seem to mind Davis clinging to him, not one bit. "He's a choir director. He's one of the regional judges for Ohio show choirs."

"He - what?" Davis struggled to sit up, but Carl held him down with one hand, laughing. "You're a complete shit, Carl Howell. I suppose the police officer was pretend too?"

"No, he's really a cop," Carl said. "They both like to put cuffs on beautiful young men, though. I suspect either one of them would love a playdate with you."

Davis stared at him, taking in that idea. It was a few moments before he could speak again.

"I'm married," he said weakly.

"Yeah, and you'll forgive me if that argument doesn't really hold water with me, considering it was _your wife_ who originally tried to seduce me." Carl stroked Davis' chest idly. It was remarkably calming. "And who ran off to New York, anyway? She doesn't have a leg to stand on."

Davis lay there another minute while he sorted through the words tumbling around his head. "You don't think she'll be surprised to hear I let you - that we - that I'm a -"

"_Davis."_ Carl spoke gently. "Just say it."

But Davis shook his head, closing his lips on the impossible thing he was thinking. _No. This isn't me. This isn't happening. _

Carl sighed again, and his arms came around him again, holding him tight. "It's okay. You've had a long day, and I think you should get some sleep."

"Okay," he said, his voice sounding as small and miserable as he felt. But he couldn't hold back a yawn as Carl climbed off the bed and helped Davis tuck himself under the covers. The chaste kiss Carl pressed to his temple didn't feel bad. Within minutes, he was asleep.

* * *

><p>Carl didn't go right to bed. He sat in the family room of their crummy rental house, hanging on to the quiet and taking deep breaths for a good half hour before he could begin to pick apart his reactions.<p>

There was the arousal, but that was nothing new. He'd had to admit pretty damn quickly that his "straight" roommate turned him on. The first time he'd seen him shirtless, wet from the shower, his shaggy blonde hair falling in his eyes, Carl had actually stopped in his tracks. Davis might be pre-law, but he had a dancer's body, and it was just as muscled and lithe as Carl could have wished for - if he'd been invited to look. Which he hadn't been, so he'd tried to keep his eyes to himself.

But they did share a lover, after all, and Bebe hadn't been shy about hanging all over either of them around the house. The walls were thin enough that Carl could hear them both, when they were doing whatever boring vanilla sex acts they chose - _not_ that he was imagining them having sex, or anything.

And there had been that one time, when Davis had been a little drunk and Bebe had been a little horny and Carl hadn't put up a fight. He hadn't touched Davis, no, but there might have been some ogling, and a tense moment of grinding with Bebe in the middle. All his fantasies that night had definitely centered around a particular pair of strong hands, touching him, stroking him, and he hadn't even felt guilty about it.

But tonight... if he had to be completely honest, he _did_ feel a little guilty about what he'd done to Davis. Manipulating him that way, even if he'd been able to come clean about it later... well. It might have had its intended result, but it clearly hadn't been the best way to go about it.

In addition, he hadn't been teasing when he'd suggested setting up Davis with Harrison or Clyde. He'd seen the way Harrison had looked at Davis. It was much the way he imagined he himself had looked at him: like he was a new delicacy, a tasty young treat to devour. But he hadn't counted on his own response to the idea, the clenching jealousy he'd experienced at the thought of Harrison taking Davis down into subspace. _He_ wanted to be the one to do that.

He knew the definition of a man who acted before thinking, and who found himself in a pickle because of it. _A brat. _No doubt about it: Carl needed Tess. He picked up the phone and called her before he could talk himself out of it.

He could hear the music as the call connected, and wondered what she was doing. He hoped she wasn't working.

"Why hello, darling. I haven't heard from you in a little while. Is everything all right?"

He tried not to imagine her smirking, feeling himself balk at the tone of her voice. She damn well knew something was the matter, for him to call her this time of night. He ran a hand over his neck and closed his eyes.

"Tess... ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you. I think I made... a mistake. Not a grievous error, but... I might have hurt a friend, and I could use some advice."

There was a pause, and the faint sound of papers rustling, and then - damn. She was working. That was the all-too familiar squeak of the chair in her office, which always made that sound whenever she - well, he could picture it, her leaning back, shifting her weight away from the desk, and raising an eyebrow at him.

"You know you're not a bother. Out with it, Jesse, and don't waffle about the background story, either." Her voice was brisk, though her tone was nowhere near as sharp as it could be when she was annoyed with him.

"It's Davis. Bebe's husband, you know I've been suspecting he's a closeted sub. I thought - if he could just get over some of his hangups, you know, let himself_ feel, _instead of being -" He shook his head. "I should know better than to listen to myself when I think I've got a great idea."

"_Jesse._ We are not starting this conversation with you wallowing. Do you understand me, young man? Now give me facts, Carl Jesse."

"He - I cuffed him. Or my friend Harrison did. To a table, and he made phone calls, asking for donations - and he did so _well,_ and it was all for me, just to please me, I mean, _god_, doesn't that indicate something? And -"

Carl heard the little sigh that often indicated she was pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to hold back frustration. He closed his mouth.

"Jesse, that is not the background I'm hearing - that's the middle of the story. Now get hold of yourself, please. Let's start with - was it a fundraiser?"

Carl explained the fundraiser, relieved when he heard a pleased noise from her, explaining what it was for.

"And you saw this as a magical, marvelous opportunity to stick this boy - how old is he, again?"

"Nineteen. He's ready, Tess, honest - "

"So you put this nineteen year old - a _teenager,_ Carl Jesse - into cuffs, in a public place, and pointed out to your friends how beautiful his reactions were?"

"Uh..." He bit his lip. "Kind of? It was just Harrison and Clyde, really - oh, and Leroy and Hiram were there, too..." He sighed. "Okay. Yeah, that does sound pretty bad."

"And pray tell, my boy, how did he react?"

Carl smiled a little. "He got, uh, aroused. I took him to the bathroom to give him a little privacy, and he was really conflicted, didn't want me there but didn't want me to go, so I just talked him down. It was textbook, Tess, the way he reacted. I knew what he needed, but he wasn't having any of it. I took him home and put him to bed."

"Define textbook, young man."

He perched on the couch, trying to remember everything that had happened without getting lost in the details of Davis' reactions. "He wanted the cuffs. I barely had to mention them before he agreed to put them back on. And once he did, he was completely... open to suggestion."

Carl heard the quick huff of her breath that meant she was trying to keep a grip on her temper. He scrambled to explain. "It's a pattern I've noticed, from the very beginning, Tess, this is nothing new... he's _gay,_ really..."

"So in other words, you put an innocent into a situation that likely frightened him on some level, took advantage of his vulnerability, and got your way in the end."

He hung his head, resting it in his hands. "God. Did I do that?"

"It's sounding very like that," came the grim words from Tess. "So exactly how far did this go, once you got him home? Please don't tell me you took advantage of sub-drop to turn the situation further to your advantage."

"Um... maybe?" He felt the heat of his blush and groaned. "I tried to let him know he was free to say _no,_ and I would listen to that... but maybe that wasn't enough. Tess, you've got to understand, this wasn't for me, it was for _him." _

"Oh, I think I do understand, young man." He heard the sound of pages turning, and she made a small, pleased noise. "You are going to drive down to Tessera tomorrow, and you are going to spend two days with me there, so that I can show you just how well I understand. We _will_ talk about this, Jesse, mark my words."

He just about choked, hearing her own phrase echoed back to him, so soon after he'd said it himself. "Yes, thank you, ma'am," was all he could say.

"I realize that the two of you are cohabitating, and that you no longer have the tempering presence of Davis' wife," she said, and she sounded as if she were gritting her teeth, but maybe that was an exaggeration. "You will restrain from further activity with your teenager between now and the time you leave tomorrow, unless it is _explicitly_ requested of you, without you prompting or prodding for it. Do you understand me?"

He let out his breath slowly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Excellent," she told him. "I shall see you tomorrow at Tessera - be certain that you pack your paddle and bring it with you, Jesse."

He winced. "Good night, Tess. Thanks for listening."

* * *

><p>Carl went right to his own bed and slept, hard, after that, and didn't bother to set an alarm - which is why it came as such a surprise to find, when he woke up in the morning, he wasn't alone.<p>

"Mmmmm..." he murmured, putting out a hand to touch the man lying beside him on top of the covers. Davis gave him a tentative smile.

"Sorry to come in without knocking," he said. Carl sat up, blearily rubbing his eyes. "I woke up this morning and I - I couldn't get back to sleep. I was thinking about last night, and what we did, and what it meant."

_Last night._ "Yeah," said Carl. "About that. I have to apologize. I was out of line."

"You - want to apologize?" Davis looked startled. "Are you saying you didn't really want -?"

"What? Oh. Oh, no. I really wanted." Carl chuckled, trying to clear the gravelly morning tone from his voice. "Trust me, I've been _wanting_ for a while. That didn't make it right, what I did."

Davis bit his lip, touching Carl's hand, resting on top of the covers. "That didn't make it wrong, either. I mean, it didn't feel wrong. I mean..." He blushed, staring at their hands. "I wanted it, too."

"I'm glad," said Carl. "You don't have to be sure about anything. It's a lot to think about, all at once."

"Maybe, yeah. But..." Davis' blush intensified. "The cuffs. When they were on, even when I was just making phone calls, cuffed to the table... they did something to me. I felt - god, I don't even know what I felt..."

"I know, man. Believe me, I understand." He curled his fingers through Davis', trying to be comforting. "The cuffs are kind of like a trigger, to help you get into the right mindset to acknowledge your desires, to submit to your own needs. Everybody responds to them in a different way."

Davis looked up and met Carl's gaze. His eyes were so blue, and so uncertain, but Carl was a little startled by the heat he saw in them. "I'm - responding to them, all right. I can't really think about anything else."

"Ah. Are you asking me to cuff you again?"

Davis' breath caught, and he barely hesitated before nodding. "See, as soon as you even _said_ that, I wanted - things. Things I didn't know I wanted. But you, you seemed to know I wanted them."

Carl's mind raced ahead to some of the _things_ Davis might be wanting. He was suddenly excruciatingly aware of himself, naked and turned on under the thin sheet. "I did suspect, as I said. You clearly want somebody in control. Sometimes that's all it takes." He began to reach for Davis, but he made himself pause. "May I... try something? You can stop me at any time."

"I - no, I don't want to stop you. That's why I'm here. I felt bad for last night because - because I _don't_ want to say no. I wanted to -" He glanced down at Carl's lap, where his arousal was poorly disguised under the sheet. "Touch you. To show you... how much I wanted it."

"I know you did, honey." The endearment slipped out, but Carl didn't think Davis minded. "But you seem to think you didn't give me something I needed last night. I didn't come looking for that."

"No?" Davis looked uncertain again.

"Don't get me wrong, here. You can touch me all you like." He took Davis' hand and put it on his leg, on top of the sheet. Davis gasped a little, but he smiled, and responded to Carl's nod by running his hand up the inside of his thigh, nudging Carl's erection. Carl breathed into it, not looking away from Davis' eyes, alight with desire. "I think if you'd wanted that, you could have had it at any time. But I think I know what you really want."

Davis's lip curled. "Yeah? You're going to read my mind and tell me -"

Carl took Davis' wrist with one hand and twisted it up over his head, swinging his leg out from under the covers and straddling Davis in one smooth motion. Davis cried out, but not in fear, and he stared up at Carl with shock and anticipation. Carl could feel Davis' own arousal pressing against him through his boxers.

"I think," he growled, "I _know_ what you really want."

"God," Davis whimpered as Carl took his other wrist. He turned his head to one side, baring his neck, and that was all Carl needed. He leaned in and put his mouth on that perfect golden skin and bit down, hard. Davis's whimper turned into a moan of pure need.

"Tell me if it hurts," Carl said, but Davis just bucked his body up against his, rubbing shamelessly.

"No... no hurt..." He moaned again. "Feels _good."_

Carl felt the desire and control sweep over him like a curtain, and he claimed Davis' mouth without asking, this first kiss entirely his to take, as far as he wanted. When he pulled away, Davis was gasping and straining for more, spread wide open. It was impossible to resist.

"You're so fucking _hot,"_ Carl muttered, burying his teeth over and over in Davis' neck, his shoulder, his throat. With each bite, Davis became more pliable, until he was literally begging for more, _please, god, Carl,_ again and again.

Carl reached for the cuffs hanging from the bedpost and snapped them around Davis' wrists. Without even being asked, he kept them over his head. Carl stroked them admiringly.

Davis shuddered. "I want - I need -"

"I know. You don't have to worry about anything." He drew his hand down along Davis' arms, the curve of his ribs, down past his cock to the gaping edge of his boxers. "I'll take care of all of it."

Carl didn't question the need for a condom. He never had; growing up sleeping with men in the late 1980s automatically meant protected sex, every time. But it did cross his mind, as he dug in his drawer for the bottle of lube, how he and Bebe had had that one spectacular failure of prophylaxis, leading to her pregnancy. He didn't have to worry about that with Davis, at least. Davis lay very still while Carl took off his boxers.

"Relax," he commanded, delighting in the feel of Davis opening up for his slick finger."Have you ever done this before?"

"N-no." Davis' eyes were closed, his forehead furrowed, and he was clearly trying hard to follow Carl's instruction. Carl smiled.

"Such a good boy. You're doing it just right." He kept talking, making his voice low and soothing, keeping Davis' attention on the sound and not the sensation. He knew from experience that the first time bottoming could be uncomfortable, even painful, and he wanted to make it as easy as possible. But as he watched, Davis' face smoothed out, his eyes still closed, and he felt Davis clench around the pressure from his finger. Carl hesitated. "Is that okay?"

"More," Davis begged.

Carl very carefully added a second finger, but Davis apparently wasn't having any of this _careful_ business. He thrust insistently against Carl's hand. "_More,"_ he said, louder.

"I'll give you _more,"_ Carl told him, thrusting harder. Still there was no complaint from Davis, he just spread himself wider and let Carl add a third finger. Carl was starting to feel a little anxious. "Are you sure that doesn't hurt - ?"

Davis let out a cry as Carl bent his fingers, just a little. "_No,"_ he pleaded, "no, it doesn't, _please?"_

"Jeez," Carl muttered, "a little pushy?" But he withdrew his fingers and wrapped his slick hand around Davis' cock, stroking lightly.

Carl had had numerous lovers in the course of his life, men and women, of varying levels of experience, but this was the first time he'd ever done this particular act with a _friend. _ He'd come to know Davis well over the past six months, and it was nothing short of remarkable to watch the reserved young man squirm and thrust and fall apart in front of him. Carl found himself a little overcome with emotion as he leaned into him.

"You're doing so well," he assured Davis, panting a little as he maintained self-control, using all his skill to get the angle right, to make this first time good for him - and then he felt Davis' strong, muscular legs wrap around his waist like a vise. He found himself flat on top of Davis, their faces nose to nose.

"God, Carl," he whispered hoarsely. "How did I _never know_ I wanted this? How is it that I _didn't _know?"

Carl kissed him, wrapping his arms around him, and held him close. "It doesn't matter. It only matters you want it, now. And I'm here to give it to you, if you want that."

Davis' hips hadn't stopped moving since Carl had slid inside him. His eyes were half-lidded now, his body loose and insistent, thrusting into Carl's cupped hand. His lips curved into a smile. "Do I _want_ that? You're seriously asking me?"

"No," Carl said, smiling back. He raised himself up on his knees, gripping Davis' hips, abandoning all pretense of doing anything but _just fucking him._ "I'm not asking."

In the most vindictive, mean-spirited corner of Carl's heart, he wished he could send Bebe a postcard of this moment. _See,_ it would say, _I knew what your husband needed all along. And it wasn't you._ More than that, though, he felt so grateful that Davis was willing to take it from him.

That gratitude carried him through both his and Davis' climaxes, through to the aftermath, in which Davis shook for an entire minute in Carl's arms while he uncuffed him, held him, kissed him and whispered gentle encouragement in his ear.

"Now you've done it," Carl said, wrapping them both in the blanket. "Do you think you'll want to do it again?"

"Oh, yeah," Davis whispered. He let Carl hold him a little tighter.

"So... last night, I said this could just be... what it was. Two people, needing something. That it didn't have to mean anything else." Carl nuzzled his ear. "Do you think it means something now?"

Davis turned glistening eyes toward Carl. "Maybe?"

Carl gave him a long look. Then he took one finger and very deliberately poked Davis under the arm. Davis twisted away, but Carl poked him again until he was laughing.

"Hey!" he cried. "You're _tickling_ me?"

"Until you say what it means," Carl agreed, moving his fingers down to Davis' ribs.

Post-orgasmic Davis was in no shape to defend himself. He threw up his hands. "I surrender!"

Carl grinned, cupping his head in one hand. "Well?"

"I think it's fair to say my sexual orientation has made a swift and decisive shift," said Davis, a little breathless, "I guess the only question is, how gay am I?"

"On a scale of one to ten?" Carl kissed him, long and deep. "I think only time will tell."


	13. Walking In, custom prompt 46

_(Author's note: thanks to flinchflower for cowriting. Thanks also to all my readers for putting up with my recent explosion of OC stories. I am working on an AU Puckurt, to be finished next week? This story was brought to you by the song "Are You Happy Now?" by Richard Shindell. Warnings for Dom/sub, discipline, flogging, mentions of bloodplay and slave training. Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

><p>50 KW Prompt #46. Walking In: Five times Davis walks in on Carl and freaks out, and one time he doesn't.<p>

April 1994

Davis looked at the space on the landing where the console table had been that morning. The square patch on the floor was a slightly different color, outlined by dust and sun. He traced it with his toe and sighed.

"She took the microwave," Carl yelled, his voice muffled. Whether by fury or tears, Davis couldn't tell. "The fucking _microwave._ I mean, god, doesn't her sister already _have_ a microwave?"

"Yeah," Davis said. He settled heavily on the top step next to the landing. "It's not about the stuff, Carl."

"Well, it's not like I cheated on her or something!" Carl appeared around the corner, his face purple and fists clenching, and stared up at him. "The bitch took my favorite leather jacket. She took the _garage door remote._ What the fuck is she going to do with _that?"_

"You took away this year's summer theater. She's going to have to do at least a year's worth of pilates classes to get her figure back." Davis hoped he didn't sound too bitter. "Trust me, I understand. Bebe hated being pregnant just as much the first time. She'll get over it, but..."

"Yeah." Carl's shoulders slumped and he leaned against the wall, hand pressed to his forehead. "Yeah, I got it. And she doesn't love me anywhere near the way she loves you. I'm thinking she's done with me."

Davis nodded and gazed at the floor. "Maybe me, too," he said quietly.

Carl shot Davis a startled glance. "What - you think so? God, man..." He ran his hand over his face, groaning. "This _sucks."_

_You're telling me,_ Davis wanted to say, but he decided it was already bad enough, so he just sat there. Carl climbed the steps one at a time, and sank to the step next to Davis.

"And here I am, your wife's lover, and you're stuck living with me until our lease runs out." His glance was apologetic this time. "I'm really sorry, man. I could get a sublet if you don't want to deal with me -"

"No. No, it's okay." Davis didn't even want to think about that. Sure, Carl might be a little bit of a neat freak, and maybe he left his shoes under the kitchen table, but he was a responsible roommate. He smiled sadly at him. "This isn't your fault. You guys didn't plan for the condom to break. Bebe'll figure it out. She'll be back after the baby's born, or... she won't."

Carl's anger was gone now. He just looked broken. "Yeah."

Davis tried a bright smile. "Come on. The semester is over. There's no reason why we shouldn't try to enjoy this summer. We're two single guys, with this big house, and nobody to tell us what to do. We can have all the parties we want. It'll be fun."

Carl's return smile was a little more bitter, but it _was_ a smile. "You're serious?"

"Okay, yeah, it sucks, but can't we make the best of it?" There were so many other things he wished he had the courage to say. _I'm really sorry my wife left you_ was at the top of the list. But how do you say that? _You're a nice guy, even if you got my wife pregnant_ was a close second.

"All right," said Carl. He sighed again, straightened his shoulders, and nodded decisively. "I'm not going to let this get to me. I was fine without her, and I'll be fine without her again, no matter what she decides. And I'm buying a new fucking microwave tomorrow."

"That's the spirit," Davis said, patting his back consolingly. "Now, those guys you met at your wine club? Hiram Goldstein and Leroy whatshisface? You said they wanted to get together and play poker. Why don't you invite them over?"

"Sure." Carl was brightening already. "That'd be fun. Hey, thanks, Davis." He put an arm around Davis' shoulder and gave him a quick hug. "You're a real friend, you know that?"

* * *

><p><span>First Time: Mark, May 1994<span>

Davis had forgotten what it felt like to have his own room. He and Bebe got married back in junior year of high school, and since then, they'd shared a bedroom. When he and Carl and Bebe rented a house together earlier that year, he spent more nights than not alone in his bed, but it wasn't the same as having his own space. Now, all of his drawers were filled with his own clothes, in whatever heck way he decided to arrange them. He didn't have anybody sniping at him about hanging his stinky, sweaty workout gear on the shower curtain in the bathroom. And he could stay up as late as he wanted to.

_Okay, maybe it would be better if you were having sex with somebody._ He squirmed a little, adjusting his irritating erection. Since he and Bebe had begun having sex when they were fifteen, he'd been the lucky one. None of his other friends got to have regular sex as teenagers. He'd felt pretty awesome about that. But since baby Jesse had been born, there hadn't been all that much sex - and then Bebe had met Carl, and she'd been pretty focused on him after that. Now his wife was gone, and he was no different from every other ordinary nineteen year old. Which was to say, horny most of the time.

He heard the door open and close downstairs. That would be Carl, returning from his _Hello Dolly_ pit rehearsal. Now whatever thoughts he'd had about taking care of that erection were stricken from his brain. There was something... uncomfortable about the idea of doing _that_ in the house while Carl was there. Not that Carl and Bebe hadn't done plenty of _that_ themselves, but... it wasn't the same.

Davis hopped up from his bed and pulled on a pair of pajama pants, trotting down the stairs to the kitchen to say hello to Carl, but he'd already retreated to his own bedroom. There was a half-full bottle of wine on the counter, and Carl's sweater was there on the back of the chair. Davis picked it up and hung it in the closet. He returned up the staircase and knocked on Carl's door, twice.

"Hey, Carl?" he said, opening the door. "I - oh."

Carl wasn't alone. This was the first surprise, although Davis thought he might have expected it. After all, Carl was a guy, and he had needs, just as Davis did. And his own girlfriend, Davis' wife, had left them both high and dry. So, of course, Carl was single, and he could have anybody over he wanted.

But Davis hadn't imagined him bringing home a _guy._ And he _definitely _hadn't imagined Carl and said guy, nearly naked on Carl's bed, lips and hands and - holy shit - other things rubbing against one another.

"I - think I should go," he said in a strangled squeak, and closed the door before Carl could say one word.

The closed door didn't block the image from his mind, though, not even when he retreated to the living room to stare mindlessly at the television. Davis tried to ignore the sound of feet hurrying across the wooden floorboards, the front door opening and closing again. Then Carl was there, sitting beside him on the couch, thankfully fully clothed this time.

"I'm sorry about that," Carl apologized. "I guess I should have said something before bringing a guy home. It didn't occur to me that you would come in." He shrugged sheepishly. "He's - well, I figured he'd be gone before you woke up tomorrow, anyway. I doubt I'll be seeing him again."

"He's in my econ class," Davis said faintly. Carl gave a choked little cough.

"Uh..." Carl cast around for something to focus on, then took the NES controller in one hand. "Heh. Wanna play some Zelda?"

"Carl..." Davis shot him a desperate glance. "You're telling me you're... you like guys? And what, you've liked them all along, and you just... failed to mention this fact to me? Does Bebe know?"

"Of course she knows." Carl looked positively offended. "I wouldn't keep that from her. I just didn't think it mattered all that much. So what, I like guys? I'm still the same."

Davis leaned back on the couch, accepting the outstretched controller from Carl's hand. Of course Carl was right. It wasn't a big deal, was it? He didn't have any reason to be so worked up about this. It wasn't like he was a big homophobe or something. He was friends with Leroy and Hiram, after all, and they were dating one another.

"You're right," he said finally. "It's fine."

Carl nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little. "Good. And... I guess, if you have any questions or anything -"

"No," Davis said quickly. "No. We're fine. Really."

They played for a little while before Davis looked at him again. "I'm sorry for barging into your room like that. You can have anybody over you want. Even Mark."

"Okay." Carl grinned at him. "Mark, huh? That's his name?"

"Jesus Christ, Carl," Davis protested, and Carl hit his knee, laughing.

"I'm just kidding. Hey, how about I call Hiram and Leroy to come over and we tell them this story? I bet they'd get a kick out of it."

"Sure." Davis tossed the phone at Carl. "You get to do the describing. I don't think I want to think too hard about what I saw in there."

But he was wrong, as it happened. His brain apparently wanted to think about it _very_ carefully, in exquisite, breath-stealing detail, throughout most of the rest of the evening, and later in his dreams.

* * *

><p><span>Second Time: Mark Two, June 1994<span>

Davis dropped his exercise bag in the hallway and stripped his shirt off as he went, tossing it on the floor of the hallway. "Dibs on the shower," he called to Carl, walking by his closed bedroom door. He thought he heard some kind of affirmative as he went, but it was hard to tell with Carl. He was usually pretty focused on his studies - dental school wasn't exactly like medical school, Davis thought, but it looked like there was a lot of homework.

Once he'd scoured away the sweat from the volleyball game, Davis felt much better. He wrapped up in his biggest towel and headed back to his own bedroom.

But then he heard a noise from Carl's room that startled him. It wasn't a happy noise, which would have embarrassed him, but he was accustomed enough by now to hear them that he didn't freak out about them. Sometimes there was a girl in there, and sometimes it was a guy, and Davis just blushed and averted his eyes when they came out and tried to engage him in conversation.

No, this wasn't a good sort of noise. It sounded - well, it sounded like Carl had dropped something heavy, and was in trouble. He leaned in to listen, and it happened again - a kind of slapping, and a cry of pain.

"Carl?" Davis didn't even think; he just turned the knob and burst through the door. "I heard you..."

It hadn't been Carl he'd heard. Well, not directly. It was something Carl was holding - or possibly _wielding_ was the proper term - that had landed on someone's bare flesh that had made the smacking sound. It was... leather. And it wasn't exactly a belt, it was too wide - and too short, just a single strap- Davis swallowed hard.

And the flesh upon which it had landed - it was they who had made the noises. Yes, _they,_ meaning two of them, two _guys,_ both with no pants on, kneeling on Carl's wooden floor. Their bare asses were in the air, both reddened and striped with lines from the strap. As he stood there, it whistled down one last time to land on -

"Mark!?" he gasped, and heard an echoing gasp from the hidden face of one of the boys. Carl sighed, stepping into Davis' line of sight. He spoke calmly and directly.

"Davis... you should go back to your room now. I'm going to finish up here, and then I'll come find you. Take a drink of water and something for a headache and lie down. I'll be right there. Do you understand?"

"Okay, yeah," he mumbled, backing out of the room. Carl gave him a little smile, closing the door carefully but firmly in his face, and he was left standing in the hallway, wondering what the _hell_ it was he'd just seen.

Hiram called up the staircase, "We're here with the pizza. Should I come up?"

"Uh... Carl's a little busy right now. Kind of uh, having a party..." What was it Carl had said earlier? Something about cocktails...

But he couldn't think about that now. He followed Carl's directions, which seemed perfectly rational and logical, and ten minutes later he was stretched out on his own bed, shaking a little.

Then he felt Carl's hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he murmured. "Can you sit up a minute? Come here. I just want to hear what you think you saw. Can you tell me about that?"

"I - you were hitting those guys. With a belt. Did they - was it, like, a hazing ritual or something?" He couldn't look at him. "It wasn't, was it."

"No." He felt Carl's hand, strong and comforting on his neck. "But it was consensual. They asked me for that, and I gave it to them. Everybody was doing what they wanted."

Now Davis _had_ to look at him. "You wanted to do that?" he said in desperation.

"Davis... I do that. For men, for women. People need physical limits, stimulation, discipline. I give them the control when they can't do it for themselves." He sought for understanding in Davis' eyes. "I thought Bebe had explained this to you. You saw my business card?"

Davis nodded slowly. "Yeah, but... I guess I didn't really _get it." _He shifted, trying to accommodate the images on his retina. "It's not sex, exactly?"

"No. It can be sexual, but what I offer, it's not sex."

"But those guys, they were... they liked it. That way." Davis was mortified to recall being absolutely sure about _that._ "And they'd had... things... inside them?"

"I can tell you all about butt plugs later. Right now, you need to try to relax." Carl put a hand on Davis' chest and directed him back down to the mattress, his head on the pillow. He stroked Davis' hair several times before covering him up with the sheet and blanket. "Don't worry about this. It's fine."

And it was, just like that. Davis could feel his eyes closing, his breathing evening out. No matter how unusual or confusing this was, Davis knew in his heart that Carl wouldn't do something that was _wrong._ He drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Carl waited until Davis was absolutely asleep before returning to the young men cuffed in his bedroom. They'd been commanded to wait in that position, and though he wouldn't have chosen to interrupt their discipline at just that moment, it wasn't going to hurt them any to have to be a little extra patient.<p>

"You've been very good," he praised them, touching them each on the head before picking up the wooden paddle. "I think you deserve a reward."

By the time Carl finished with them, the boys were sated and well-spanked and comfortably resting tucked into his bed. He came downstairs to get some water, and was startled to find Hiram and Leroy on the couch eating pizza.

"Hey," he said, stretching his neck. "God, I really need to stop doing this at my house. It seems so unprofessional. Plus I always end up sleeping on the sofa when they bliss out and can't drive home."

"Is Davis okay?" Hiram looked concerned. "He sounded freaked out to see those boys in your room. Didn't he realize you had clients?"

"I, um, may have neglected to explain exactly what I do," he said. "Maybe. But he knows now."

Leroy stared at him. "He sure as hell does," he said slowly. "Do I need to call Tess?"

"I'll talk to her tomorrow," Carl assured Leroy hastily. "And next time, I'll be sure to be very, very clear about just what a _cocktail party_ entails."

* * *

><p><span>Third Time: Toys, July 1994<span>

Having a roommate wasn't a bad thing, but sometimes sharing a house with someone you weren't sleeping with felt a little crowded. Tonight, Carl knew that Davis was attending an all-night cram session for chemistry, and he felt practically gleeful at the opportunity for privacy.

He hummed to himself as he prepared the toys he wanted. There were a few that he wasn't sure of, but knew he wouldn't want to go searching for any of them or cleaning them once he got started. He carefully laid out a series of plugs, and a couple different oils, one warming, one cooling, and put out the box of baby wipes. He spent some time lovingly working neatsfoot oil into his body harness, and his wrist and ankle cuffs and a simple collar as well.

The leather tie downs on the bed were easy enough to hide on an everyday basis between the mattress and box spring, and Carl pulled them out now, carefully inspecting them. He checked that they didn't need conditioning, ensuring that the trigger snaps were oiled and moved freely and easily. He replaced the rope in the front end of the tiedown rig - one that allowed him to pull his own wrist up to the restraint - but which would also let him move a hand away, just in case. There was really nothing more embarrassing than getting stuck in a self-bondage situation, he thought, snorting, thinking of Tess' laughter that one time she'd discovered him.

_Which reminds me..._ He selected a series of floggers from a drawer, splaying them out so that they would be within easy reach, and then he picked up the telephone extension, dialing the familiar number.

"Tess?"

"Hi, sweetheart. Still have plans for some fun tonight?"

"Yes ma'am. I was about to, well, begin. I'll check in with you before two AM?"

"That's fine, Jesse. Thank you for being safe, have fun and I'll talk to you in a few hours."

The call disconnected, and Carl dimmed the lights in the room, stretching luxuriously out among his tools. He carefully arranged the pillows, then as he knelt before the stack, he reached back behind himself, and fastened each ankle to a corner of the bed, reaching down and tightening the leather down so that his legs were spread lasciviously. He took a deep breath, feeling the body harness tight against himself, and reached back, caressing his own buttocks, watching his cock twitch with anticipation. He fastened his left wrist next, to the upper left corner of the bed, ensuring that the rope tied to the right hand snap hook was secure in his left hand. And then he laid himself down. It was a nearly perfect four point restraint.

Carl needed a hand free for the flogger - and the anal plugs as well. His back was pleasantly warm as he drizzled the warming lube along his own backside, and began to work a medium plug in. He thrust hard into the stack of pillows, moaning, working himself to the point of orgasm. Then he switched to a more severe flogger, which woke a sensation of dark stinging and depth along his back muscles as he flogged himself. Carl dragged the falls along his cock, between his spread legs, even as he reached back to trade the plug for a bigger size.

He was moaning, thinking he wasn't going to last very long now, as he switched plugs and floggers around. He clipped the leather leash to his collar, holding the lead in his right hand. One pull on the rope in his left hand had his right cinched up near the headboard, and he strained against the five leather tiedowns, listening to the hardware on his cuffs and collar jingle. His body was shaking with the need for orgasm.

Carl sank blissfully into the pillows, beginning to thrust, trying to will himself to hold back from orgasm, working his cock, feeling the muscles on his back stand out as he strained. There was no way he would have noticed the door open.

* * *

><p>Davis stared a moment, taking in the spectacle in shock, and then trailed back out to the living room, swallowing. He took shelter in responsibility, sitting down and opening his chemistry book, but all he could see against the pages was the outline of Carls muscular body, hard cock jutting out, and the marks of the flogger on the man's back... He shook himself. Not what he needed to be thinking about.<p>

He'd just managed to settle himself down into the routine, paying attention to his chemistry book and pointedly _not_ thinking about what was going on in the back bedroom, when there was a knock at the front door. He looked up, startled, but rose to open it.

Hiram and Leroy were standing hand in hand, grinning like idiots. Leroy reached out and placed a bottle of champagne into Davis' startled hands. "Put this on ice, my boy. You know how Carl likes his bubbly cold."

"Don't harass the poor fellow," Hiram scolded. "Can we come in? It's still over eighty degrees out here. Far too warm to celebrate on the porch."

Davis blinked. "What's going on?"

"We're engaged," they cried in unison.

* * *

><p><span>Fourth Time: Training, July 1994<span>

He didn't know if it was the state of the pavement or the protein shake he'd had for breakfast, but Davis had made his weekend bike route in record time. "Shaved almost twenty minutes off my time," he marveled, looking at his watch as he climbed the front porch. The door was locked, but he didn't even think about knocking; he just reached under the mat and grabbed the spare key.

He wished he _had_ knocked, although knowing Carl, he might not have even cared. It was such a bizarre sight, it took him a few moments to slow his stride and pause in the hallway, retracing his steps to get a better look. Then he stopped - and stared.

Carl was kicked back on the recliner in the living room, reading the newspaper. He had a cup of coffee in his hand, and as he turned the page, he set his coffee down on the end table next to the recliner.

Only they didn't own an end table. Certainly not one shaped like an attractive naked man, kneeling with the tray held over his head, painted in realistic skin tones - wait, was that table _breathing?_

As he folded his newspaper, Carl caught sight of Davis standing there. He paused, looking more apologetic than startled.

"Davis," he said softly, "would you get me some cream for my coffee, please?

Davis had the cream in his hand and was closing the door of the refrigerator before he really thought about what he was doing. By the time he was back in the living room, he'd resumed breathing as normal and he was even able to meet Carl's eyes.

"Want a donut?" Carl offered, gesturing at the table. "They're sour cream cake."

Davis exchanged the cream for a donut, sitting weakly back against the couch. He flickered a glance at the table again, impressed despite himself by the complete lack of movement. Then he looked a little closer. "Mark?" he whispered. The table didn't move.

"It's not permitted to retain that identity at the moment," Carl murmured. "It is simply here to serve, as all objects are."

Davis felt a strange, cold sensation cascade down his back, making all the hair stand up on end and the base of his spine tingle. "Oh."

The screen door opened, and Leroy entered. He paused as he saw Davis sitting there on the couch. "You're home early," he said mildly. "Carl?"

"Davis, I'm happy to answer any questions you have in a few moments. Until then, you're welcome to stay, but I'm going to need you to refrain from addressing... the furniture. If you don't mind."

"Uh... sure." He was having a little trouble breathing, actually, and even more trouble keeping his eyes off of Mark's - off _the table's_ - legs, crossed neatly at the ankles, or the tiny twitch in the broad muscles of his - _its -_ shoulders.

"Leroy, come over and inspect my handiwork." He sat up and gestured for Leroy to take his place in the recliner. "I think you'll find it's up to par."

"Thank you, Carl." Leroy approached the table, smoothing a hand over its back, along the curve of its tricep. "It looks very well conditioned."

"It's been working out," Carl agreed. "I have it on a strict high protein diet."

Davis opened his mouth to comment on the protein shake he'd had this morning, and then closed it again as he realized who that shake had probably been made for.

Leroy sat down in the recliner, taking a donut and a cup of coffee. The table didn't waver. "Clean lines," he mused, "and good form. Does it appreciate a good spanking?"

Davis choked on his donut, but he noticed the table's eyes didn't even look up from the floor. He thought its face might be a little pink, though.

"It benefits from regular discipline," said Carl. "And I believe it would be amenable to close contact, should you desire that."

"Perhaps," Leroy said. He placed his hand on the table's calf. "Hiram and I are monogamous, you know, but it's nice to have a pet to snuggle with when the weather gets cold."

"That would be up to you to negotiate in your contract, of course. What do you think?"

Leroy smiled. "I think we might have a deal. I'll run it by Hiram. Let me have a day to think about it."

"If you're not interested, Harrison might be," Carl said, standing and shaking Leroy's hand, "so you may not want to take too much longer than that. We on for poker later?"

"Absolutely. We'll bring the wine." The older man gave Davis a friendly wave, then headed for the door.

Carl carefully lifted the tray off the table, setting it to the side. Then he took the table by the elbow, giving it a gentle lift. There was a deep breath, and the table straightened its neck. Carl put his hand on its neck, massaging it.

"Go to my room and lie down under the blanket," he said, patting the table on its ass. It went silently and obediently, its face definitely scarlet now. Carl turned to face Davis, looking thoughtful. "You went along with my lead. Thank you. I hope that wasn't too upsetting."

"No," Davis said honestly. "He didn't seem upset. I think he - he really wanted to do well, though, and I feel bad for... uh, distracting him."

"He wasn't distracted," Carl assured him. "That was one of the first things he learned to do: to shed his identity, to fall into a kind of trance state, where extraneous input won't keep him from his focus. His only motivation becomes to serve." He put a hand on Davis's arm. "I meant I hope that wasn't too upsetting for _you."_

Davis wasn't sure how to answer that, so he shrugged. "I'll be all right. It was just a surprise, to see Mark like... that."

"It's what he wants," Carl said. "He asked for the training. He's my first."

"Your first...?"

"First slave."

The word made him flinch a little, but he tried to keep in mind Mark's willing posture, his strong back, the way he acquiesced to Carl's orders. And - his arousal? "He, uh, likes this?"

"Not the way you think." Carl's eyes twinkled. "He seldom gets turned on when he's serving, but... Mark's not accustomed to having you here. I think he has a crush on you."

Davis had absolutely no response for this, and he just stared at Carl until he grinned and waved him away. "I'd better go take care of him. He's in great physical shape, but holding a position like that would take a toll on anybody. Everything okay with your bike ride today? You got done early."

"Yeah," Davis said faintly. "It was... unexpected."

* * *

><p><span>Fifth Time: Demo, August 1994<span>

"Why _can't_ I come?" Davis asked for the fourth time. Carl sighed.

"It's not your kind of club," he said. "You won't understand, and I won't have time to explain it to you."

Davis frowned at Carl. "But I _want _to understand," he objected. "And you said that asking questions and seeing you work would be the best way to do that. Not to mention I love dancing. I'm _going_."

Carl reminded himself that Davis wasn't actually his to discipline. "I'm not so sure you can handle it," he said shortly. "For one thing, if you argue with me like that in the club? Not cool."

"I won't," Davis said. "I promise."

He sighed again. "Let's go pick out something for you to wear, then. There's a dress code." He caught Davis by the arm. "But... really, you need to agree, you won't wander off without me, and you're not going to backtalk me - or Leroy, for that matter."

"I promise," Davis said again, missing the frown on Carl's face as he flung open his closet door.

* * *

><p>The throb and beat of the music in the background was awesome, and he'd never seen so much leather all in one place before in his life - or so much skin. Carl and Leroy both nodded and shook hands on the way into what looked like a big dining hall, with a stage at the end of it. Davis smiled to see the social butterflies emerge for the evening. He relaxed when Carl seated them at a table, and a waiter was by within minutes to hand the glasses of water around.<p>

"All right. I'm up in twenty, I need to go greet the host, and make certain nothing's changed." He casually drew what looked like a coiled rope from his bag, and Davis watched curiously as he went off.

His eyes widened twenty minutes later as Carl returned, his black leather pants reflecting the stage lights, white shirt shimmering. And he was cracking a whip. And aiming _at_ someone. Or rather, he noticed, at someone's heels - the girl danced ahead of him, squealing, as he herded her with the whip.

"Wow," he murmured without thinking, eyes fixed on the stage. He was practically transfixed as Carl began speaking casually about techniques, flicking the whip with deadly accuracy at various targets. He took questions from the audience, who seemed attentive and respectful of his knowledge. _This is my roommate?_

Suddenly he realized the talk was over, the room applauding. When Davis looked around, Hiram and Leroy were nowhere to be seen. He grumbled a little to himself, shifting in his seat.

And then he got up and strolled out to the bathroom. He was a grown man, for God's sake, he could go and pee if he needed to. He washed up, gazing at himself in the mirror, button down shirt and indigo jeans appropriate enough, but the puzzled, contrary look he saw on his own face made him frown more. Davis sighed, then made his way back to the room where they'd been seated - only stop in the doorway, transfixed.

There, on the stage, was a great big frame, with a tiny little woman shackled to it. Carl was standing behind her - and as his arm moved and the whip cracked, she squealed, and there was applause.

"You must be in complete control of yourself, to use a signal whip or snake whip," said Carl. "You need to be aware of your surroundings at all times, and provide adequate clearance from any onlookers or participants. And - you need to know your target's limits." The whip cracked again, and suddenly there was a six-inch stripe on the woman's back. She cried out again. Carl's seemingly casual gesture laid down three parallel lines, not more than two inches apart. "It can just make a lot of noise - or it can be a brutal weapon. There's no room for error."

Davis stumbled back, colliding with the door, and fled back to the bathroom. He ducked inside an empty stall, locking himself in, and leaned against the cold metal, hearing the cracking of the whip in time to the racing of his heart.

_They're going to worry about me,_ he realized after a long moment, and unlocked the stall door. He was washing his hands in the sink when he felt a heavy, warm grip on his shoulder and looked up, hoping to see Carl in the mirror.

Instead, Leroy was behind him, frowning ferociously. "One of the conditions of you attending the club tonight was that you stay with Carl - or at least in his line of sight. You'd better come with me, _right now,_ Davis. No dilly-dallying. Hiram's waiting - he's watching Carl's performance."

"I don't think I can go back in there," Davis said, shaking his head. "I didn't realize he was going to _draw blood."_

"No excuses," Leroy said, raising his voice just enough to make Davis move. What could he do but acquiesce? No matter how awful it was going to be, he wasn't going to yell at Leroy. He would just close his eyes, or something.

But he didn't close his eyes. He kept them wide open, for the rest of the evening, and his mouth closed, taking in the astonishing sights and sounds. Carl remained social, moving between groups, answering questions, laughing and talking with people Davis had never met. It was a singularly lonely experience to realize his roommate had another life that didn't involve him.

_I asked to come tonight,_ he thought, backing into the corner near the refreshment table. _But Carl was right. I had no idea what I was getting into. _

"May I pour you a drink, sir?" he heard a quiet voice offer. Davis turned his head to see the server - and blinked.

"Uh... hi, Mark." He hesitated. "I'm not even sure if I should call you that."

"It's okay right now, sir," Mark said. He was shirtless, wearing a collar and harness, but otherwise looked exactly like the guy who'd presented last week in Davis' Current Events in American Government class. Davis realized he was staring as Mark looked away, blushing. He thought about what Carl had said about Mark having a crush on him.

"You're working for Hiram and Leroy?" Davis asked.

"I have a contract with Leroy and Hiram, yes, sir." Mark held up the bottle of club soda with a questioning eyebrow, and Davis nodded. He poured in some juice and threw in a garnish before handing it to Davis.

"Thanks. And - I'm really not a sir." Davis grinned nervously, taking a sip of the drink.

"Everybody's a sir to me, sir," Mark said gently. "It's part of my training. It's good."

Davis nodded, in a kind of daze, not even sure how to talk to Mark when he was like this. But just as Davis caught Carl walking toward him, he leaned in, and said in desperate urgency, "It's _good?"_

Mark's face split in a breathtaking, blissful smile. "Oh, yeah," he breathed. "God, it's _so_ good."

Davis just shook his head as Carl took his arm and led him away.

"You're ready to go home," he said. Davis nodded, and Carl sighed. "Yeah. That wasn't really a question, but... yeah. I'll get Hiram to bring the car around."

Carl didn't ask him any questions or talk to him on the way home, which was just as well, because he wasn't sure he had any coherent sentences to offer. Davis went through the motions of getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth and putting on a clean pair of boxers. It wasn't until he was returning from the bathroom that he passed Carl's bedroom.

"Come in for a moment," Carl said. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, and patted the space next to him. Carl paused in the doorway.

"That girl," Davis said. "The one you were... whipping. Those cuts." He watched Carl's expression for any sign of remorse, of apology. There was none. He shook his head, feeling his face tighten in near anguish. "She was in _pain."_

"Yeah," Carl agreed. "She was. But it was what she wanted. Some might say it was what she needed. Certainly she knew what would happen, and she agreed to it ahead of time. There was no point at which she could not have halted the demo and told me to stop. And..." Carl gave him a patient smile. "Knowing Penny, she probably came at least once from the pain alone."

Davis heard a noise come out of his mouth that didn't sound like anything he'd ever made before. It wasn't quite a whimper, and it wasn't quite a moan, but he managed to cut himself off before it went too far. Then Carl was beside him, holding his arm, helping him to sit down. He realized he was dizzy.

"Don't judge her for it," Carl said. "Or me, or... or Mark, or any of us. We might have specifically unusual kinks, but we know ourselves, and we make the environment safe for everyone involved. It's not the end of the world."

_It might be the end of mine,_ Davis wanted to say, but he just shook his head, staring at his hands in his lap. He felt Carl's hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting.

"You've been really... nice, this whole summer," Davis mumbled. "You didn't have to be. I know I don't fit in with your social group, and I freak out every time something new happens, and... and I'm just sorry to drag you down."

"Davis," Carl said, sounding genuinely surprised. "No. No, no... that's not how it is at all. Listen to me." He took Davis' shoulders and held him steady, looking into his eyes. "You're as much a part of all of this as Leroy and Hiram are. _You're _my roommate. You're my friend. I'm not doing anything here because I feel like I have to. I care about you." He smiled, broad and sincere. "All of this... everything I do, it's a little surprising. More than a little, probably. You're getting used to all of it, a little at a time. You have to give yourself time. That's normal, and healthy, and you're doing everything exactly right."

Davis heard those words, and it was like the fog had instantly lifted off of him, and he could see - everything. Everything was clear. "Really?" he said breathlessly. "I am?"

"Really," Carl promised. "I'll be here, right here, all night, if you find yourself waking up with fears or questions or anything else. Don't hesitate to come and get me. All right?"

"Okay," Davis agreed. "Thanks, Carl." And he went to bed, feeling much more peaceful and willing to put the images in his head to rest.

When he did wake up, though, there was no way he would have gone to Carl. Not in the state in which he found himself; not with the dream of himself shackled to the great big frame fresh in his mind. This night, it didn't matter that Carl was just next door, on the other side of one thin wall. He couldn't resist giving in to his own overwhelming desires, or keep himself from gasping Carl's name as he came.

* * *

><p><span>September 1994 (following KW#19, Handcuffs)<span>

Davis called Carl on the way home from his Congressional policies class to see if he wanted him to pick up dinner, but there was no answer. He decided it was safest to get Chinese and keep it for leftovers if Carl had something else planned.

The house looked dark when he got home, though, and he had to turn on the porch light just to keep from tripping over their bicycles.

"Carl?" he called - quietly, remembering all those times he'd interrupted Carl in some activity or another. There wasn't a reply. He considered leaving the Chinese on the counter and heading back to the library.

Then he sighed. _This is my house, too. Whatever Carl's doing upstairs, I can probably handle it._ They were lovers, now, after all. Carl hadn't brought home anyone, girl, boy or table, since they'd started spending nights together in Carl's bed. Not that Davis had asked him for exclusivity of any kind. He wasn't even sure if he wanted that. But, even so, he braced himself for what he might find as he slowly climbed the stairs and knocked on Carl's closed door.

"Uh - hang on a second," Carl called, sounding startled. There was a muffled curse.

"I can come back later," Davis offered, but Carl opened the door. He looked sheepish.

"No, you can come in. I'm not ready, but... you caught me."

Davis peered into the darkened room. There were flickering lights from candles on various surfaces. A pair of padded cuffs were laid out on the pillow, and the tiedowns fastened to the corners of the bed frame were in plain view. His breath quickened.

"What's going on tonight?" Davis asked.

Carl sighed. "It's just me, being a little ridiculous. I thought you might like something special for your birthday."

"Oh!" Davis grinned. He leaned over and gave Carl an awkward kiss. Things were still new enough between them that he felt self-conscious doing it. "How'd you know it was my -"

"Bebe told me. I didn't even have to work an angle to get her to spill it; I just gave her an opportunity to complain. Apparently you're very hard to buy for."

"Yeah, she's always bought me terrible presents." Davis touched the sheets, not satin, but something feather-light and incredibly soft on his skin. "But this... this is an awesome present."

"You didn't even see what I got you." Carl hesitated, then pulled a long, slender box out from under the bed. He handed it to Davis. "Please... be honest. If you hate it, tell me, okay?"

Davis lifted the lid off the box and looked inside. He sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed. "Oh."

Carl waited in silence while Davis withdrew the steel-tipped flogger from the box. He held it in his hand, weighing it. It was beautifully made, and seemed to be of the highest quality leather - not that he knew how to determine quality in an implement of torture. He didn't know what he was looking for, at all.

He thought about freaking out, about dropping the flogger there on the bed, and bolting out of the room, returning to his safe world of history and economics. Then he looked at Carl, at his roommate, his friend, his lover, and thought about how he'd taken such good care of him this summer, all the things Carl had introduced him to. He realized he trusted him more than he trusted... anyone, really.

Davis turned the handle of the flogger around and handed it back to Carl. "You bought this for me?" he asked softly. Carl nodded. Davis took a deep breath. "Well, then... I guess you'd better try it out."

Carl took a step forward. "Are you sure? Because if this is just for me, we really don't have to, honestly."

"No, I..." Davis looked at the floor, then back into Carl's eyes. "I'm ready now."

* * *

><p>"I still think we should wait to hear from Carl before going inside a <em>dark house,<em>" said Leroy, frowning at the door.

"Why did he leave on the porch light, then?" Hiram said. He reached under the mat and got the spare key. "Come on. Mark, you go upstairs. I'll check in the back."

"Yes, sir," said Mark, climbing the stairs two at a time. But he returned quick enough, an anxious look on his face. "Pretty sure Carl's upstairs, but he's got a client. I could hear the sounds of flogging."

Hiram exchanged a concerned look with Leroy. "He's going to be home any minute from class. This is the last thing Davis needs to deal with on his birthday."

"I'll talk to Carl," Leroy sighed. He headed upstairs and knocked twice on the door before announcing, "It's me," and going in. He didn't stay long.

"Did you talk to him?" Hiram asked absently, looking in the bag of Chinese take-out on the table. He looked up and caught Leroy's faint smile. "What is it?"

"I think we can safely say Carl has Davis tied up for the evening," said Leroy. "But make sure your phone is charged, okay, Hiram? He's going to want to talk to someone later."


	14. Pie, custom prompt 47, First Time

_(Author's note: this story was written at the request of Flynn, who wanted more Jacob/Timmy. It's set about a month after Kurt and Puck's trip to LA to see Gaga, as told in Just Keep Coming Around. Jacob is Adam's security guard, and Timmy is Puck's older brother. Warnings for m/m foreplay, romance and discipline. Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>50 Kinky Ways prompt #47 (Author's Choice) - First Time, JacobTimmy**

Timmy ducked into the coffee shop, sliding into a booth. He checked his phone, making sure there were no messages, and then turned it off. He didn't think phones needed to be on all the time. Most people were way too tied to their phones. If somebody really wanted to talk to him, they could come find him.

_Of course, you're making yourself awfully hard to find,_ his conscience told him. He was pretty sure that voice that sounded like his Ma was his conscience. Either that, or she was haunting him from the goddamn grave, which was also possible.

He smiled up at the waitress, who smiled back. "Can I get a coffee?" he asked. "And do you have any pumpkin pie?"

"We might," she said. "I'll bring it over if we do. Whipped cream?"

"Yes, please. And more cream for my coffee."

"Anything for your friend?"

Timmy stared at her in confusion until she turned aside and indicated the table on the other side of the coffee shop. His stomach sank when he saw Jacob seated there. Jacob gave him a short wave. Timmy just scowled.

"He's not my friend."

She raised an eyebrow. "He offered to buy your coffee."

"Yeah. He's... my boyfriend. I'm just not ready to talk to him."

Her lip quirked. "Do you want me to pass him a note, or do you think we'll get detention for that?"

TImmy sighed. "Fuck." He put up a hand and beckoned to Jacob, indicating the empty seat in front of him: _be my guest._

"You're buying the pie, too," he informed Jacob as he slid into the booth.

"I was going to take you out anyway," Jacob said mildly. "But that was before you decided to skip out on our date."

Timmy avoided his eyes. "Yeah."

"I mean, I wasn't wrong, was I? You did say eight at Niko Niko, right?" Jacob probed Timmy's face for confirmation. "I'm willing to admit I might have been wrong, so -"

"No," Timmy said through gritted teeth. "You weren't wrong."

Jacob waited patiently. He reached across the table, offering a hand, but Timmy didn't take it. He sighed.

"Did you order me some pie?"

"I didn't know you were _here._ Of course I didn't order you pie."

Jacob grinned. "You really didn't see me there when you came in?"

Timmy shook his head. "How did you know I was going to come here?"

"Didn't I tell you? I'm awesome."

He glared at the grinning face. It was a toss-up whether he should yell, walk out or give up, but, really, Jacob would wear him down eventually. His smile said the same thing every time: _I'm going to get my way, not because I'm pushier than you, but because I'm right, and you know it._

"What kind of pie do you want?" he said with a sigh.

"Custard. Or pumpkin, if there's no custard." Jacob stretched out his legs under the table. They weren't particularly long legs, but they were long enough to brush Timmy's. He gave him a steady look. "Why _did_ you ditch me, then?"

Timmy leaned back against the back of the booth, drumming his hands on the seat, glancing around for something, anything to focus on besides Jacob's piercing brown eyes. "You're not going to like my answer," he said.

"Probably not. I still want to hear it." He smiled brightly at the waitress as she came around. "Could I get a slice of custard pie?"

"Sure, honey. Let me refill that coffee for you." She gave Timmy a meaningful look. "I'm guessing this will be a long conversation. I'll try to stay out of your way, but give me a holler if you need anything."

Jacob beamed at her, then turned back to Timmy expectantly. "Come on. Would it be easier if we took a walk around the block?"

"Then you couldn't eat your pie." He stretched out his hands, rotating his wrists, and Jacob reached out and gripped them firmly. Timmy's movement stilled.

"No, but it might help you concentrate." Jacob leaned forward, hauling Timmy toward him. When he stopped, they were less than six inches apart, leaning over the table. "You're not making this easy for me."

"Fuck," Timmy whispered. "I'm sorry."

Jacob's face relaxed into a gentler expression. "You're going about this all wrong. You're supposed to explain, _then_ apologize. But I'll take it, _niño."_

"I didn't mean to," he said, twisting his wrists, but Jacob didn't let go. He knew Jacob knew him better than that. "I mean, I was planning on being there, really." He couldn't quite watch Jacob's expression, but out of the corner of his eye he saw him nodding, and he relaxed a fraction. "But I was driving over, and I just... I couldn't do it."

"You were scared."

Hearing Jacob say it like that, so matter-of-factly, made it less shameful and more like the sort of thing an ordinary boyfriend might do. Timmy was able to nod, to agree. "Yeah. I was."

Jacob stroked the inside of Timmy's wrists with his thumbs. "What of?"

Timmy didn't answer right away, so Jacob suggested, "Is it something I did?"

"What? No - no, Jacob. No." Timmy looked right into Jacob's eyes, then, his fear gone, replaced by compassion, because he could see Jacob's own fears, right on the surface. He turned his hands over and took Jacob's wrists in his hands, so they were linked, each of them gripping the other across the table. "No," he said again, gently. "You're so good to me."

"All right," Jacob said. He took a slow breath, and let it out. "All right. So... if not that, what?"

Timmy shrugged. "It's... been a month."

Jacob waited for more, but when Timmy didn't go on, he prompted, "A month for what?"

"We've been... together. For a month."

Jacob opened his mouth, then closed it again, thinking. "Oh. Wow." His mouth turned up in a silly grin. "Really?"

Timmy grinned back. "Yeah. That's kind of what I thought, too. And you get one guess as to how many relationships I've had... ever... that lasted that long."

Jacob nodded slowly. "Okay. Yeah, I can see why that would be scary for you." He moved his hands to grasp Timmy's palms. "Can I come over to that side of the bench, because this is really too far away for me right now, but I don't want to freak you out."

"God, _yes,_ please," Timmy groaned, and Jacob scrambled up from the booth, sliding out and coming right around to sit next to him. He took Timmy in his arms and held him tight, burying his face in Timmy's neck.

"_Mi niño, mi benito niño,"_ Jacob whispered,_ "estás bien. Estás bien."_

Timmy squeezed his eyes tight, letting himself feel Jacob's warmth, to exist for just a moment in the world of his arms, where nothing else mattered.

"It's just a lot," Timmy said, for Jacob's ears only.

He felt Jacob's nod. "A lot to deal with?"

"No," he said. "A lot to consider losing."

Jacob kissed him on the jaw. "You're not losing anything, _niño._ No matter how far you run, I'll always come after you. No matter where you hide, I'll wait for you to be ready to come out. I won't let you go that easily."

Timmy took a deep breath, feeling the words settle inside him. "Okay, that could sound really creepy, but... it doesn't."

"It might, after you find out what's going to happen next." Jacob's arm around him tightened, holding him close.

"Uh... okay?"

"Pie first," said Jacob complacently. "Then you're coming home with me."

The waitress brought the bill, and Timmy paid it, but he was mostly paying attention to Jacob's hands holding the fork, Jacob's mouth chewing each bite, Jacob's tongue licking the crumbs off his lips. By the time they were done with the pie, he was more than a little bit turned on.

"I took the Metro here," he said. "Did you drive? We could go back to my place."

"Sorry," Jacob said, standing and pulling Timmy to his feet. "Not private enough. I need the things I have in the house. We're going back to Adam's."

It took Timmy another ten minutes riding in the van before he started to get the vibe that they were _not_ going back to the van to have sex.

"Just what kind of _things_ did you need from Adam's house?" he asked suspiciously. "I have condoms in my bag."

"Not those," said Jacob. He turned the corner into Adam's parking lot. "Go on. Meet me in the back."

Jacob took his time, leaving Timmy to sit on the futon and stare at the security monitors, wondering exactly what Jacob had in mind. He jumped a little when the back doors opened and Jacob climbed in, carrying his duffel bag.

"We need to talk, _niño,"_ he said, tossing the bag on the floor next to the futon. His eyes did not leave Timmy's as he sat across from him.

Timmy swallowed. "Yeah. I... kind of got that idea."

Jacob put a hand on Timmy's leg. "You know enough about what Adam and Noah do together, the way Adam disciplines him. You know I do the same thing, with other people. And you know it's not about sex."

Timmy felt a sinking sensation inside him at those words. "Not about sex," he echoed. That made it pretty damn clear his suspicions had been right. _But I like the sex,_ he wanted to whine, but he guessed he knew how that would probably sound.

"No. It's about providing guidance when you're out of control, giving you some structure when you're making bad choices." He tightened his hand on Timmy's leg, and Timmy drew back.

"Uh..." he said.

"You've been running from me," Jacob said quietly. "Today wasn't the first time."

Timmy shrugged. "I told you I was going to do that."

"Yes, you did. I wasn't surprised. So now I'm going to ask you: do you trust me?"

"Well - yeah," he said. "Yeah, of course. I do."

Jacob nodded, still not breaking eye contact. "All right. Then take your pants off."

"You want me to do _what?"_

"Look, Timothy, we can do this one of two ways," he said patiently. His hand was still on Timmy's thigh, and it suddenly felt as hot as a branding iron. "You can either do what I say and trust that it's going to be all right... or you can fight me, and I'm still going to go through with it. The second way will just take longer. What's it going to be?"

Timmy decided in the end it was Jacob's rational explanation that convinced him. All he had to do was consider what he knew about his boyfriend - that he was intelligent, thoughtful and entirely obsessed with the safety of people he cared about - and take a leap of faith that there was something here he wasn't quite getting. _Jacob's going to take care of me,_ he thought, and the idea was profoundly calming.

"Yeah, all right," he said, and unzipped his pants.

When he turned around again, Jacob had the sweetest little surprised smile on his face, but he tucked it away under his mask of calm as he reached for Timmy's hand. "C'mere." He pulled Timmy into a tight embrace. "Thank you."

Timmy hugged him back. "Trust, right? It's not just talk. Yeah, I get freaked out and take off sometimes, but that doesn't mean I don't trust you." He kissed Jacob's cheek. "I love you, okay?"

"Oh." Jacob shuddered in his arms, and when he sat back, his eyes were wet. "You're really playing that card, _right now?"_

"Hey, sorry, man," said Timmy, shrugging, and gave him a smile. "I'm not trying to manipulate you. It just felt like the right time to say it."

"Yeah, I got it... I'm just... damn." Jacob's hands cupped Timmy's face, and he kissed him hard. "I love you, too."

"Yeah?" Timmy felt the stupid smile bloom on his own lips. "Wow. That's kind of awesome."

"Yep." Jacob's eyes were shining. He leaned forward to whisper in Timmy's ear. "Now you're going to kneel right here, on the bed."

When he said it like _that,_ it didn't sound bad at all. In a haze of awareness and arousal, Timmy let Jacob guide him onto his knees, leaning him forward onto his folded arms with his ass in the air. He felt completely stupid, but at the same time, it was sobering to be in this position in front of his boyfriend, knowing how seriously he took this practice. He felt Jacob's hand graze his bare back, raising goosebumps.

"Your goal here is to let me take control, _niño_," Jacob said softly. "Do you understand?"

"Not really." He laughed nervously. "But, uh, I'll give it a try, and I figure you'll tell me if I'm doing it wrong?"

"Yeah. Well. I know you're no innocent. But this... it's going to hurt. I won't lie. Do you think you can hold still, or...?"

Timmy tipped his head toward Jacob, raising an eyebrow. "Or what?"

"God," Jacob muttered. His face was flushed and he couldn't maintain eye contact. "Or do I have to tie your hands down?"

Timmy felt the thrill down his spine, and his hips jerked forward without him doing anything. He heard Jacob's quick intake of breath. "Hey, man," he said, his voice coming out low and hoarse. "I thought this wasn't sexual."

"It - it's _not,"_ Jacob whispered. He didn't sound upset or whiny; just perplexed. "It never has been before."

This made Timmy shift to one thigh, propping himself up on an elbow. Yeah, the image of Jacob tying him down was vivid in his imagination, and that was pretty hot, but he was more concerned with the confusion on the face of the man who'd told him five minutes ago he loved him. He reached out one hand and brushed Jacob's knee with the backs of his fingers. "So what has it been like?"

Jacob sat there for a moment, crouched on his knees, his hand resting on Timmy, stroking idly. "Comforting, in a way. A relief, to know I could count on Cal to be there for me, to take care of things when they got too overwhelming."

"And what about when you're doing that for other guys? Or girls?" No matter how much this relationship had been fulfilling for both of them, Timmy knew that Jacob had never been with a guy - nor had he wanted that before Timmy. He shifted his knees on the futon, and Jacob's eyes went back to Timmy's bare ass, glazing over a little.

"I... uh..." He took another breath. "It's a rush, to know I can give them what they need. It fulfills something in me to be able to give them that, to be... in control, to have them hear me."

Timmy grinned. "You want me to do what you tell me to do?"

"No," Jacob clarified, gazing at him. "I want you to jump to follow my directions, without even thinking about it. That's the kind of space you need to be in. I'm going to help you get there." He reached out, rearranging Timothy's arms and shoulders, bringing him back up onto his knees and down onto his elbows. "Close your eyes."

Timmy did, taking a deep breath. "That's good," Jacob murmured. He stroked down Timmys spine, feeling each bump with his fingers, until he got to Jacob's sacrum. He made a round circling motion, easing his fingers over the curve of his ass, to his hips, down to where the buttocks connected to the thighs. "You feel that?"

"God, of course I feel that," moaned Timmy, spreading his legs just enough to give his half-hard cock room to shift. "You can touch me anywhere and I'm going to feel it in my cock, Jacob."

"Let's keep our focus here." Jacob's left forearm pressed heavily down on Timmy's back, his thigh wedged underneath to provide a little support under Timmy's chest. Timmy felt the air compressed out of his lungs, and as he rested his head on Jacob's jeans-clad leg, he focused on the warmth of his skin, the comfort his body provided. He was even able to relax a little before Jacob's hand came down hard on his ass.

"Fuck," he swore, jumping a little, but he tried to settle back down onto that space on Jacob's thigh. No sooner had he clutched at his knee that Jacob did it again, and again, in the same spot. Timmy started to feel a stinging burn, and he gritted his teeth to deal with the pain. It wasn't unlike being with a particularly rough john, after all, and he knew how to handle that -

"_Niño,"_ Jacob murmured, stroking his head. "You can't fight me. You have to give in. I'm not going to hurt you."

"The fuck you're not," Timmy protested. "That _hurts."_

"I told you. And you need to let yourself feel the hurt. Don't pretend it doesn't hurt. Understand?"

_Don't pretend it doesn't hurt, but hold still. _Timmy sighed, pressing his cheek into Jacob's warm thigh. "Okay."

"That's it. That's my boy. Just breathe into it." His hand came down again, but it was less of a shock this time, and Timmy could feel the impact in a different way, the way it struck his flesh but also the other parts inside him it touched: his heart, his gut.

_And fuck it, Jacob, definitely my cock,_ he thought, squirming against Jacob's lap. Jacob just pressed more firmly with his left arm and brought his right hand down harder. Timmy cursed and bucked, but felt the security of his grip and his whispered encouragement, and felt himself let go a little more. He let out an embarrassing whimper.

"Yes, _niño,_ don't fight it." His palm came down on the sensitive space on his thigh, and Jacob cried out. "You ran away from me."

"I'm _sorry,_" he cried, struggling, but it was futile. Jacob was a hell of a lot stronger than he was. There was no way he was getting away.

_I can't get away,_ Timmy thought, with sudden terror. _Holy shit, he's not going to let me get away._

"Jacob," he said, and Jacob stopped immediately, hauling him into his lap and wrapping him in a tight hug. "Jacob, I - I can't -"

"Yes, you can," Jacob promised him. He kissed Timmy's cheek, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, and Timmy just let himself fall into his embrace. "You did. You did so well."

Timmy felt the air rush into his lungs, bigger, bigger than he thought possible, and then it all came out in one big _whoosh, _and he was crying. Jacob just held him tight, loving him with his words, his hands, now gentle on his skin and hair, and waited until he was done.

"I don't..." Timmy fumbled for his sleeve, but Jacob pressed a tissue into his hand, and he wiped his eyes, shaking his head. "I don't _cry."_

"I know." He sat back, watching Timmy from within the shelter of his arms, and smiled. "I don't either, except when Cal does this. And I sure as hell need it sometimes."

Timmy felt strangely exhausted, and rested his head on Jacob's chest, just under his collarbone. He could hear Jacob's heartbeat, steady and strong, and felt the pressure of his arms around him.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I think I see what you mean."

"Timothy." Jacob's lips ghosted over Timmy's ear, and he shivered at the puff of breath that warmed his skin. "You still trust me?"

He turned his head to face him, their lips inches apart. "Yeah."

Jacob laughed shakily. "That's really good. I'd hate for my boyfriend to suddenly stop wanting to do other things with me just because I'm disciplining him." His hand dipped down his back to his ass, made more sensitive by the impact of Jacob's hand.

"That was just your _hand?"_ he said, making Jacob laugh again.

"Yeah. I have... other things here in the bag, which I'd be happy to try on you another time, but I thought, for now, this was enough."

"I can take it," Timmy said in what he hoped was a stoic voice, but Jacob shook his head, hugging him tighter.

"You don't have to _take it. _You're supposed to let _me_ be in control. That means you take what I give you."

The words hit Timmy in an unexpectedly erotic way, and he groaned, grinding against Jacob's jeans-clad hip. "Yeah, okay, so... what are you going to give me now?"

"I told you, _niño,_ this wasn't about sex." But his voice hitched a little, sending a shiver down into the crease of Timmy's sensitive bottom. "You - uh, god - I'm here to give you what you need."

"Yeah, baby..." Timmy took Jacob's face in both hands and gave him a patented, full-tongue kiss. They were both a little glassy-eyed and breathless by the end. "You're giving me just what I need."

Jacob's smile was brilliant. "Wow. You're admitting to me you need something. That's pretty incredible right there."

"Yeah." Timmy risked a smug grin, running a hand down Jacob's chest to his stomach. He fingered the waistband of Jacob's jeans, brushing the head of his cock. Jacob thrust into his hand with a grunt. "And you told me that wasn't sexual. What the fuck?"

"I have no idea," said Jacob, climbing on to Timmy's lap and pushing him down onto the bed. "But I think this is going to have to be a situation where I act first and ask questions later."


	15. Bar Exam, prompt 21, Spreader Bars

_(Author's note: Thank you to flinchflower for cowriting another Carl/Davis backstory with me. It's been a good distraction while I work on my latest Puckurt. This story is set in the mid-90s, while Carl and Davis are happily partnered and Davis is finishing up law school. Yes, the subject matter for this particular KW is a terrible pun, and I'm not a bit sorry. Warnings for... well, all kinds of discipline. Enjoy! -amy and flinchflower)_

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><p><span>Bar Exam (Kinky Way #19: Spreader Bars)<span>

Carl's tread was heavy as he entered the room, and the door slammed behind him. Davis winced, but he didn't look up, keeping his eyes on the television and sipping his drink.

"Shh," he called, waving a hand for silence. "Marla's about to propose to Andy!"

Carl's jaw dropped, taking in the scene. He recognized the soap opera on the television set; enough of the girls he'd dated in the Army had watched it. But _Davis_ watching it? There was an array of dirty dishes on the coffee table, and he looked around the apartment critically, seeing other chores undone. And was that - a _sock? -_ hanging from the top of the lampshade next to the chair where Carl usually sat?

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he said flatly. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's a momentous occasion," Davis insisted. "Fans have been waiting for months for this scene. I read about it in TV Guide."

"And you're a fan," Carl bit off.

"Shelby watched it." He shrugged, and sipped his drink again. Was that a little umbrella? Carl would have ground his teeth together, but he knew better.

"And you've been on that couch all day, by the looks of it," he said, nodding at the coffee table. "Where the hell are your law books and the study guide?"

He didn't even look guilty. "They're on the kitchen table. I stopped after lunch. Really, Carl, it's going to be _fine._ I've been studying hard, and I'm more prepared than anybody I know."

Carl examined his watch, and stepped into the kitchen table, looking at the neatly stacked pile of books, and one open notebook, with the study guide in front of it. He knew damn well what it looked like when Davis was studying, and this was _not_ it.

"Get the hell up off of that couch, Davis." His mind was going pretty fast at this point, fueled by the adrenaline of his frustrated anger.

"Just let me finish this -"

Carl strode over to the couch, where he grabbed Davis' bicep and hauled him into a standing position.

"Hey!" Davis protested. "I was in the middle of something."

"Yeah, you _should_ be in the middle of something," Carl told him, as disgusted with himself as he was Davis. "And right now you're going to be in the middle of a corner, while I figure out what I'm going to do with you. Obviously I haven't been giving you what you need."

Davis glared at him, sulking as he faced the corner. Carl snapped off the television to Davis' squawk of protest, but he paid him no mind. He put his hands on Davis' shoulders, breathing with him, but Davis was rigid and furious, not listening to Carl's body's cues.

"Relax," he murmured, putting some pressure on his shoulders. Davis shrugged them off angrily.

"Get your damn hands off me."

Rather than acquiesce, Carl chose to give Davis a series of hard swats. _He hasn't been spanked in quite a while, and he'll be sensitive_. "Stay put, right there. I'll be back in five minutes." He schooled his voice to be quiet, something that he'd gotten very good at lately without losing the tone that demanded immediate obedience.

"This is absolutely unfair," Davis complained, crossing his arms and placing them appropriately on his head. "I want one little break from studying and you go all fucking Lieutenant Bossy Pants on me."

Carl thought about it, mentally totalling the number of times he'd seen Davis sloughing off on studying lately, waltzing around with a glass of wine, sleeping in on lazy mornings, and an odd sensation came over him. The mention of his rank was what did it. Davis was a pain in the ass at his best, and a devious brat at his worst.

He mentally reviewed his tools. There was one that Davis hadn't experienced just yet, and he thought personally that the usual sort of spanking he gave the younger man wasn't going to do anything other than have Davis shedding crocodile tears and making empty promises. He needed to step it up a notch.

Carl reached around and yanked Davis' sweatpants down, noting that there was no underwear to bother with, and landed another series of rapid and hard swats. "Watch your mouth, and stay right there."

Now Davis' responses were quicker, and there was no talking back, though Carl could still see the same stubborn expression on his face. At least he was paying attention _and_ standing still. "Yes, sir," he added belatedly.

Carl strode off into the bedroom, contemplating which location would be best for what he had in mind, even as he gathered the cuffs - _all_ the cuffs - which fit Davis perfectly, and easily selected out a riding crop, a good size lexan paddle, a tawse, a familiar tube of cream, and two of the spreader bars, which he'd managed to keep hidden up until this point.

Since he wanted aftercare to be easy, he'd keep this in the playroom, and so with that he prepped the bondage table that he preferred to use. He'd clip Davis' wrist cuffs to each side, and prevent the boy from protecting himself first thing. The tools all went on a handy shelf on the underside of the table, where it was easy enough to hide them with a drape. That done, he collected the wrist cuffs and collar, taking them with him to the living room. Davis was still in position, though by his posture and expression, he was still full of contrariness.

"Turn around," Carl murmured, with the collar in his hands. "Come on, gorgeous, let me take over now. You've been working hard. Now it's my turn."

Davis opened his mouth to protest, but he just let out a breath, and closed his eyes, tipping his chin back to accept the collar. Carl felt his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and traced the strong muscles of his neck.

"Lovely." Carl kissed Davis on the cheek, then gave his bottom a swat. "Let me have your wrists, now. Words, please?"

"Alford, to slow down," Davis responded promptly, and Carl snorted with amusement at the legal joke. "And Jesse to stop."

_Naturally._ Carl sighed inwardly, imagining the hideous guilt it would prompt inside himself to hear his own name used as a safeword. Not that Davis was actually using _Carl's_ name; rather, it was his son's, Davis and Shelby's, the baby who was now being raised by Shelby's sister and her husband. But it sounded like the name he'd used for most of his life, and that was bad enough for Carl. But no, he'd asked, and he would let Davis stand by his safewords - not that Davis ever used them anyway.

Carl buckled on the wrist cuffs, checking to ensure safe circulation, and clipped the leash to Davi's collar, leading him off to the playroom with a sharp tug to the lead. Carl shook his head, deciding to forgo the lecture as he unbuttoned Davis' shirt, pulling that and his t-shirt off.

Davis looked surprised to be laid down on his back, and Carl smiled down at him, stroking an idle finger along Davis' side, and down his leg, to buckle on the first ankle cuff.

"Hold still," he suggested, "and it'll be much better for you." Davis shifted uncomfortably for a few seconds, but at Carl's warning hand on his thigh, he calmed down for a moment. Carl smiled. "I know you can be such a good boy."

It took a little effort to say that without laughing, but Carl managed it. Davis was the _worst _good boy Carl knew - which included himself at 27, which wasn't an easy feat. He moved around, buckling the cuffs in satisfying order, taking time between each cuff to trail his hands, his fingertips along Davis' sculpted body. He loved the shivering. Davis looked good in the three sets of cuffs: wrist, ankle, and thigh.

Davis made delicious whimpering noises as Carl snapped on a tight cockring, making it clear that the evening's work was not in the least for Davis' pleasure. That was apparently his breaking point, for Davis squirmed and put a hand down to stroke himself - which wouldn't do, not at all. Carl gently slapped the back of each of Davis' hands.

"God, Carl," he moaned, "you know how this turns me on. You can't leave me like this."

"I know you're not making good choices now, honey. You need to relax, and trust me to give you what you need." Carl brought them up to what would be a comfortable resting point, attaching each cuff to a tiedown point on the table, restricting Davis' movements.

Davis glanced at his hands, one then the other, and then looked with some confusion at Carl. "I thought you were spanking me," he said suspiciously.

"I am," came the serene answer. He contemplated Davis' prone form, reflecting to himself that they needed a waist belt, something they didn't have - _or perhaps Davis might enjoy a tightly laced leather corset,_ he thought idly to himself.

Making his way to the end of the table, he brought the first spreader bar up, clipping it into the right thigh cuff. A quick slap to the inside of each thigh got Davis to spread his legs, and a second set of slaps had Davis straining the limits of his flexibility, which was quite excellent. The grunts and whines were very appealing. _Not to mention that particular spreader bar is just the right length,_ he mused. Davis would be able to close his thighs about three or four inches once it was clipped to the other side, so it wouldn't strain muscles unnecessarily.

"There we are," he said silkily, pulling on the bar, forcing Davis' knees up, until Davis' feet were flat on the table top. "And here," he continued, flicking Davis' feet further apart, and then clipping in the second longer bar. "I'll just let you get used to that for a moment, hmm?"

Davis squirmed in the restraints. "What do you - _god -_ intend to do with me like _this?"_

Carl smiled, his eyes gleaming, a dangerous sort of smile crossing his face. "Give you the spanking that you worked so hard to earn."

He moaned. "Like _this?_ On - on my back?"

"I think that it's often educational for naughty little boys to be spanked in this position, don't you think?" With that, he linked the two bars together, to keep Davis' knees bent, and pushed the bars back to Davis' broad chest, exposing the entirety of the finely muscled ass, the cheeks parted a good way. It was quick work to bring a set of tie downs up to keep Davis in position, and he began to slap at the pristine white flesh of his ass, quickly and sharply with his hand.

"I - can't," Davis protested. Carl paused.

"You have a word," he suggested. "Do you want me to stop? Or are you begging for something else? Speak up, little boy."

"Please... I want you, inside me." It did sound an awful lot like begging, and it went straight to Carl's cock, but he wasn't about to interrupt his plan for that.

"I think I can give you what you need." He bent over and kissed Davis' forehead lovingly, before going back to his bag of tools. The lube, absolutely, and the slenderest of his flanged ass toys. He coated it liberally with lube - they could be boiled, should he play with anyone else, but honestly, it had been years since Carl had - and stretched Davis with two patient fingers.

He knew just how to tease, the right points to apply pressure, and the right time to twist his fingers just so, scissoring them apart. The increased whimpering was sweetness in and of itself, and he was knuckle deep inside of Davis, trying not to smirk as he plunged a sudden third finger in, giving Davis the quick stretch and light burn that he know very well drove him to distraction.

Carl worked his fingers until Davis was gasping and begging, and then finally picked up the cold glass, slicking it thoroughly, and sent it plunging into the fluttering opening, which was stretched wide. This toy was longer than ones they normally used, and a little wider, and he stepped back, one hand lightly pressing against the flat of the flange, holding it inside of Davis to observe the reaction. Davis was doing his damndest to get the toy to hit that perfect angle inside of him, while still managing to stay reasonably still.

"Oh god," Davis whispered. "Oh god, I need..."

"You need a spanking." Carl stepped back, contemplating whether he wanted to strap the toy down, and discarding the idea. He picked up the strap, running the smooth, worn leather through his hand, and he sent it singing through the air to leave a beautiful welt across both cheeks. The mark penetrated the skin between Davis' cheeks, further along his thighs than it would if he'd been face down, and he cried out. "Shhh... easy now, my boy. I'm just getting started."

He kept it up until he'd worked up a light sweat, and Davis was moaning uncontrollably between blows of the strap. The particular marking pattern was lovely, the strap marks overlapping perfectly, and he paused to appreciate the artistry of it. He knew Davis would like the look, once he had recovered enough.

Carl needed a drink at this point, though, and he needed to ensure that Davis was hydrated as well. He laid the strap aside, and picked up the latex gloves, opening the thick white tube once they were on. Carl squirted a generous amount of capsaicin gel onto his hand, and then smoothed it quickly onto Davis' marked posterior, making it appear slightly shiny. He was careful not to encroach upon the sensitive skin between the cheeks with the gel. He left the gloves in the trash, and the tube within reach.

Bottled water was always stocked on the lowest shelf beneath the table, and he fetched one quickly, uncapping it and giving Davis a few drinks of water. The oddest expression was beginning to form on Davis' face, and Carl knew the capsaicin gel was beginning to make itself felt, on the freshly strapped surface. He leaned back, trying not to let the smug smile overtake him as he took a long drink of water.

"Feel that?" he purred, watching Davis' eyes roll back into his head. "That burn's going to stick around for a while. You'd better work on your focus."

He walked leisurely over to the dining room table where Davis' notes sat in a neat stack, leafing through them to find his summaries. He teased out the stacks of note cards from the classes he remembered Davis swearing about the most, beginning with Constitutional Law, Real and Intellectual Property, Civil Procedure and Torts. He knew enough about Probate & Estate from losing his grandparents, to throw a number of questions in there as well, and that had happened while he was in the Army, too, so Davis hadn't been aware of that tangle.

Davis, meanwhile was starting to breathe erratically, and little groans were emerging from his mouth at odd intervals. Carl brushed the sweat off his brow, smiling gently at him.

"Are you ready to do a little review?" he murmured.

Davis' dilated eyes struggled to focus, flicking over to the cards Carl held in his hands. "W-what... oh, god... Carl, I can't think like this..."

"You think it's going to be any better when you're in the middle of a complicated case? Just consider this an opportunity to prove you can work under pressure." He stroked an idle hand over the heated skin of his inner thigh, watching the muscles jerk and twitch as his cock contracted. Carl knew there was a good chance the cock ring wasn't going to be enough to keep Davis from reaching orgasm, not with a barrage of sensation like this.

And so the questioning began. Carl kept himself prowling around the table, a thin, heavy strap in hand, which he employed gleefully and generously every time Davis provided an incorrect answer.

"So tell me, Davis. There's a federal judge and a local leader of an LGBT group who are involved in an assault and battery case - and it was provoked by negligence on the part of a local university at a panel given during a graduate class. Who is liable to whom, and for what?"

"You can't even _answer_ a question like that," Davis all but wailed.

"Oh but you can, honey. That's all tort law. Want to give it a shot?"

"No," Davis protested sulkily. "I want to come."

Carl refrained from snorting, and picked up the riding quirt from the foot of the table, swinging it with full force to collide with Davis' striped backside.

Davis howled, and Carl bathed in the sound, the feeling of satisfaction. Once Davis had quieted, he resumed the questioning.

"How do you know to even _ask_ these questions?" Davis moaned at one point.

"I was right there with you every step of the way while you were studying for your JD. Wouldn't it be a shame if I picked up more law than you did?" He paused only to give him another sip of water when it seemed Davis' perspiration had dried up his mouth, and kissed him, watching his lower lip trembling. "Ready for another one?"

TWO WEEKS LATER

Davis stared at the long line. He kicked himself for not leaving the house sooner, and his buttocks clenched despite himself. He'd grown accustomed to tolerating sitting on a spanked bottom over the years, but he hadn't been able to sit comfortably, without a sense of lingering horror, for days after that session. The memories were still fresh in his mind...

_Carl rubbed in another round of the capsaicin ointment, and the next fall of the strap broke Davis' skin, driving the capsaicin into the tiny cut left by the leather. Carl stopped immediately, as he didn't approve of bloodplay; that was always a sign that a strapping was over. But before Carl could do a thing about it, the sensation of the capsaicin in the open cut overwhelmed his senses. Davis threw his head back, screaming through the ball gag and the heavy fabric that Carl had wound over top of that, his untouched cock pulsing out a massive climax, despite the tight cock ring. The orgasm had seemed to go on forever, and he'd been hyper-aware of Carl's presence near him. Carl had told him afterwards, chuckling, that all he could really responsibly do at that point was to watch Davis come, as he'd just been in awe that Davis could even manage it with a cock ring that tight._

Davis shook himself, knowing that he needed to focus. He ran over some of the complex practice scenarios in his head. The line was moving slowly, though, and listening to some of the recent graduates babbling idly occupied his thoughts. At least until one boy leaned over to another and said conversationally, "Man, I'm so tired of sitting and studying until my ass goes numb. Won't miss that at all." Davis found his cheeks heating up - top and bottom sets, both.

That really only evoked the feeling of sitting on a stool facing the corner on the occasions when he'd tried to deny that he needed to study. And the fact that two daysafter that spanking, his thigh muscle was still twinging whenever he tried to contract it. Added to the fact that he couldn't sit down without due care (and process, his mind added inconveniently). Every time he sat, he felt the hideous burn of the capsaicin. It only improved his focus on the studies at hand, because even as much as he liked the feeling, he couldn't imagine getting another spanking on top of it - and he knew Carl was_ watching._

He shook himself again, noting that there were only six people remaining in front of him, and made himself relax. He pulled open his wallet - and stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a thin strap tucked into his wallet. At the touch of the leather on his fingers, the memories of that entire session came crashing back.

And then he was in the room, and they were handing him a booklet, and it was happening, and Davis... engaged.

The slam of the door expressed Davis' headache quite adequately, except for the fact that the loud sound just made it hurt worse.

Carl emerged from his bedroom, an eyebrow raised, neatly dressed in a way that said to Davis that Carl had been reading journals and studying.

"And?"

"_You_," Davis said, nearly halfheartedly. "_A strap._ In my _wallet._ On the day of the _bar exam_?"

"Did it help you focus better?" Carl inquired calmly.

His lip twitched. "I - _yes._ You bastard."

"Leave my mother out of it. You deserved it."

"Carl-" Davis groaned...

Carl stood, approaching him with satisfaction. "And once your results come in... hmmm. Let's say I'll give you five with the deerhide flogger, for each point you earn on the exam..."

Davis sank to the couch, wincing even at the pressure from the soft cushion, but he couldn't help but smile. "Is that supposed to be a punishment or a reward?"

Carl leaned over and kissed him gently, smiling back. "What do you think?"


	16. A Door to Walk Through, secret prompt

_(Author's note: this story originated in a joke, but since both the joke and the name of the Kinky Way this is about contain spoilers for the story, the explanation of it at the end. In the meantime, enjoy Finn's seventeenth birthday present. This story occurs between chapters 20 and 21 of The Fingers of Your Fire (WIP), which is set just after episode 1.16 Home. -amy)_

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><p>Finn received the message in the middle of American history, just a notice that there was something for him in the office. He glanced at Puck and Kurt briefly before heading to the door. Kurt was absorbed in his reading, but Puck gave him a questioning eyebrow, tapping his pencil. Finn just had to shrug. He didn't know what it was, either.<p>

He didn't _know,_ but he thought he might be able to _guess._

His guess was further confirmed when he saw Angela sitting in the office. She looked right at home in the office environment, but the juxtaposition of the old familiar world of school and the still-new, heart-thumping world of Carl was almost too much for Finn's brain. He sat down next to her, smiling tentatively. "Hi."

"Hi... Finn." Her eyes danced. _It still makes her laugh _not_ to call me sir,_ he thought, smiling back.

"Is it weird to be here?" he wanted to know.

"Kind of," she admitted in a whisper. "But it's kind of fun, too." She handed him a folded note, printed on maroon marbled paper. "This is to be read and returned to me. I'll wait."

He opened the note slowly, feeling the familiar combination of anticipation and fear. He watched her face for cues, but she just sat there, passive and calm. "Okay," he muttered, and read the handwritten lines:

_Go home directly after school. You are not to call or text anyone once you leave. You'll find your present on your bed. Bring it to my office and prepare yourself. I expect you in room six, cuffed to the table, wearing your present, by four-thirty. Don't be late._

He pulled the paper to his chest, feeling the blood leave his face and travel elsewhere in his body. "Angela," he said faintly.

"Don't tell me," she said. "It's not my business." She reached out and tucked a pen into his hand. "I have to take this back with your signature."

He signed the bottom in a daze and handed it back to Angela. She nodded her thanks and stood to go. "Finn?"

"Yes?"

"Happy birthday."

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><p>"What do you think it is?" he heard Kurt murmur to Puck behind him, in the midst of April Rhodes' solo.<p>

"I don't know," Puck whispered back. "Could be anything."

"Would you _shut up,_ already," Finn said through gritted teeth.

There were definite disadvantages to having his two boyfriends be out with each other at school. They always sat together in Glee, for one thing, and even though they weren't holding hands or anything, everybody accepted this as normal. Which meant _they_ got to talk to each other. And now that things were okay between the three of them, of course they would be talking about _him._

"What could he want him to _wear?"_ Kurt mused. "A shirt... a tie? Not a scarf. Though he'd look good in one."

"Dude, you're thinking way too tame," he heard Puck say with amusement. "Try a ball gag."

Kurt's chuckle was obliterated by the entirely too appealing image in Finn's head. Okay, it was _Puck_ wearing the gag, not him, but that was beside the point. _It's my fucking imagination,_ he thought, crossing his arms restlessly. _Dammit._

"Mmm, maybe not," Puck went on under his breath. "A harness, maybe. Oh, I know..."

"_Shut... up..."_ he said again, a little louder this time. He knew he could use the Voice, and Puck would do what he wanted - probably - but it wasn't something that Finn had tried at school, not since the fight. He wasn't anxious to get back to that place with them. It seemed that something about what had gone down in California had changed things between them. It wasn't that Puck didn't listen to what he had to say. Rather, he seemed to have more of a choice about how to respond. Half the time he chuckled and went along with Finn's suggestions, but now things were more equal between them. It was almost a relief, Finn told himself firmly, not to have that power over his best friend. And Puck got plenty of guidance from Kurt and Adam, so he wasn't worried. Not really.

It was somewhat distressing how, these days, Finn was quivering and leaping to obey Carl's instructions as often as he was giving them to anyone else. _And the Voice apparently works just fine on written paper._ He shivered. _A harness? Jesus Christ. _

"But what if it's something confusing?" Kurt was saying. "Too many buckles? Hooks in the back? No, I think we should go home with him and help him get ready."

"What - _what?_ No!" Finn twisted around on the riser to stare, open-mouthed, at Kurt. Puck was smirking at him.

"Everything okay, Finn?" Mr. Schue's voice was mild, but _he_, at least, commanded some tiny degree of appropriate response from his students.

"Uh, yeah - sorry," he said, with one final glare at Kurt. _No,_ he mouthed.

_Oh yes,_ replied Puck innocently.

Finn could feel the ridiculous blush lurking at the collar of his shirt, ready to ambush him at any mention of certain key words. _Boy _and_ dentist_ were at the top of the improbable list. _Ball gag _and_ harness_ were now apparently penciled in at the bottom. He wiped the sweat off his brow. Sometimes he couldn't quite believe this had become his life.

When April's beautiful song was over, Kurt approached him from one side and took his arm, and Puck gripped his shoulder on the other. "No," Finn said firmly, or as firmly as he could while whispering. That was apparently all he could manage. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Really, guys - no thank you, but I can do this by myself."

"Really?" Puck ran his eyes up and down Finn with shameless familiarity. "You've got to be kidding. Tell me you can get to your house, shower, put on whatever he wants you to wear and make it to his office by four-thirty on the bus."

Finn closed his eyes on the stab of anxiety. "It'll be fine. I can be a few minutes late..."

"No way," Puck insisted. They walked him right out the door and toward his locker. The _Happy 17th Birthday Finn_ balloons and streamers still festooned the hallway right above it, but Finn didn't have the energy to do anything about them. Kurt snagged one and tied it to his wrist. "Finn, whatever he's got planned for you, it's going to blow your freaking mind. Trust me, you don't want to be late for something like that. I'll give you a ride."

It made sense, since Puck was living in the apartment next door to Carl's office. Finn couldn't refute his logic - which, considering this was _Puck,_ was saying something. He leaned in against the cool bank of lockers, resting his head on the wall, and gave a little groan.

"What is it, Finn?" asked Kurt quietly. "Don't tell me you're embarrassed."

"Yes, I'm _embarrassed,_" Finn muttered. He stuffed his American history book into his backpack and zipped it shut with a jerk. "I can't believe he sent me a note like _that._ At _school._"

Puck grinned, crossing his arms. "Dude. I think it's all kinds of awesome. He's clearly got something planned for you. Can't you just enjoy it?"

Finn glanced at Kurt's concerned expression, then at Puck's cheeky smile. "What if I - " He swallowed. "What if I don't enjoy it? What if he asks me to do something I don't want to do?"

"Has that happened yet?"

Finn felt his agitation ratchet up a notch. "No, but... it _could._ It could, and what if it happens _today_, and I - and I don't want to do whatever it is he wants me to do? And then he's going to - he'll be..." He made himself take a deep breath. "I don't want him to be disappointed."

Kurt and Puck exchanged a look. "What?" Finn protested.

"I'll meet you guys at Finn's," Puck said to Kurt, and leaned in for a quick kiss. "Maybe you can talk him down, baby. I don't think he'll listen to me."

"See you soon, sweetheart," Kurt said, smiling, and watched him walk away. Then he turned back to Finn with a calm, decisive expression. "You're _not_ going to disappoint him. He _loves_ you. He wouldn't do anything you didn't like."

Finn let the events of the last five weeks filter through his memory. Like he was panning for gold, certain events came sifting to the surface: Carl with the suede flogger, before they'd even exchanged words of affection. Carl in his office, that first night he'd taken him over his knee, and later, in his house, on his bed. Their weekends at the open mic in Irene's coffeehouse in Columbus, and Patrick. All the things Carl had shown him about having the courage to be in charge again, and what it really felt like to... to belong to someone.

"No," he whispered. "He hasn't done anything that I didn't want."

"Then what -?" Kurt looked completely mystified. Finn grabbed his backpack and closed his locker.

"Can we talk about this in your car?" he pleaded, looking back and forth nervously. "Because this is a little... public."

"Of course," Kurt said, not questioning Finn's logic, even though the hallway was almost empty, even though they'd had plenty of similar conversations right there next to Finn's locker, in the men's bathroom, upstairs in their attic room. Finn didn't feel particularly logical just then. He strode through the hallway, knowing he was forcing Kurt to hurry to keep up with his long legs, but far too antsy to care.

It wasn't until he had slammed the door of the Navigator and was sitting securely in the seat that he faced Kurt. He knew his cheeks were red, but this was _Kurt,_ and he could tell him anything.

"Carl and me," he said. "You know we've done... a lot of things. He's been amazing, I can't even tell you."

"I know." Kurt held out his hand, and Finn took it. "You've shown me some of them."

"Yeah. And... there are some things we haven't done. I mean, at all. Things that you and I do, and I'd really _like_ to do with him, but..." He sighed in frustration. "He won't."

Kurt pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Won't, ever? Or won't yet?"

"Yet, he says. I don't know. Tess told me I have to be patient, that it... that it could be _years. _It seems like it might as well be never." Finn stared out the window at the football field, the students walking by. Everything seemed so easy around him, compared to his life. "But I don't know what he's planning today."

"You think it might be one of those things?"

"No," Finn said. "He said not until I'm eighteen. But... if it's not that, then what _could_ it be?"

Kurt laughed. "You really think you have a sense of how many things he hasn't taught you yet? Finn, really. I remember wondering last December, _are there more things out there, that I haven't done yet?_ And then I went to California, and Adam..." He shook his head, still smiling. "There's... a lot of things, Finn. Things we have no idea even exist. And Carl knows about _all of them_."

"God," Finn whimpered, and his head swam at the thought. "It's too much. I can't... I'm not cut out for this, Kurt."

Kurt turned his knowing smile on him. "Oh, yes, you are. It's so clear. I knew it from the first day you went to his office and he took care of you. The change in you - it's palpable." He chuckled at Finn's blank look. "I can feel it," he clarified.

"Yeah?" Finn was still dubious. "I mean, yeah, I guess I can see how it's been good for me, but..."

"But nothing." Kurt took his hand and kissed it. "The two of you together, it's nothing short of magical. When you come home from visiting him, you're so much more comfortable, clear. More yourself. I get all of you, just the way I know you need to be. When you're getting what you need from him, then _I _can get what I need from _you._ I bet Patrick gets the same thing."

Finn considered Kurt, trying to follow Kurt into that calm, rational space he was providing. It wasn't easy. "You... got that from Adam?"

Kurt considered the question carefully. "I do. I mean, I did. But it's not something we do every time, or even something I would count on. It's not quite the same as it is between Adam and Noah."

Finn could see Kurt watching his reaction to what he was saying. Finn wasn't worried. It was taking them time to get back to where he and Puck had been, but he wasn't jealous of Adam anymore, and he was pretty confident things would settle out eventually. He nodded. "And you think... you think it's good for me, what Carl and I are doing? Even though I have so many other things going on, so many people?"

"I really do," Kurt agreed. "I think you trust him. Even though it's scary. Even though it's hard to admit you might want the things he wants you to do." He put a gentle hand on Finn's knee. "And I think he would always listen to your safeword_,_ if you decided you didn't want any of them. Even if he planned it for you for your birthday. You're not going to disappoint him. Just be honest, and stay open, and listen to yourself."

Even in his agitated state, Finn could hear that Kurt was making sense. But he had to ask one more question. "Kurt... the way things are between me and Patrick. Is that what you want from me?"

Kurt hesitated, and licked his lips before answering. "I don't think that's something we need together, Finn. You've always been strong for me, given me what I needed in those moments when I was..." He laughed. "When I'm a brat. You take care of me in just the right way. I don't want you to worry about how it is between us. We've always figured it out together, and that's what I want from you."

It wasn't quite an answer to the question Finn had asked, but he thought Kurt was telling the truth. He leaned over and kissed him, gently, then more firmly, and felt a little more settled when Kurt shuddered and responded to his touch. "Okay," he said. "I think I'm ready to do... what he wants me to do." _Whatever that might be._

Kurt turned the key in the ignition. "Good. Let's go see what he has waiting for you at your house."

* * *

><p>Finn was almost relieved to recognize the two items resting on his pillow when he walked in the room. He opened the door a little wider to let Kurt and Puck in.<p>

"Dude, I know what _that's_ for." Puck reached around him to snatch the leather strap up from Finn's bed. His grin made Finn's stomach tense as he handed it to him. "What the hell? You don't need one of these."

Finn sighed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, twisting the cock ring between his fingers. "Well, you've heard how things used to be, back when I was messing around with Quinn."

"Yeah, you said, that _things_ were over pretty quick." Puck crossed his arms, frowning. "But that's not how you are with us; not at all."

"Not with you guys," Finn agreed.

He shrugged. "What's the difference?"

Kurt moved in to stand beside Puck, one arm around his waist. "I can imagine it might have something to do with giving us what we need. When you know we're... counting on you, you last longer. Don't you think so?"

"Definitely." It had been surprising, at the beginning, that he could outlast his boys, but it had become something he could depend on. Kurt smiled at him fondly.

"And, when Carl is taking care of you, maybe you don't have to worry about that?"

It didn't sound embarrassing, the way Kurt described it, but then Kurt had never made him feel embarrassed about anything in regards to sex. Puck, on the other hand, looked all set to tease him mercilessly, but Kurt was already tugging on his arm.

"I'm thinking you don't need any help putting either of those things on. We'll wait downstairs, then drive you over to the office. And you can call later if you need a ride home, and Noah will come get you. Right?"

"Hell, yeah," Puck agreed with evident enthusiasm. Finn resisted the urge to scowl at him. The urge dissipated when Puck moved in to kiss him, getting in a good grope while he was there. "I totally would help, though."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm already going to catch some flack for letting you guys come over at all." Finn kissed him back, then welcomed Kurt into the center of their embrace. He leaned his head against Kurt's, then Puck's, steepling their foreheads together in solemn contemplation. "But whatever. It was worth it."

"Happy birthday," said Kurt, leaving a kiss on the skin behind his ear and his neck. Somehow that made him tingle and relax.

"And don't worry if you don't make it home tonight," Puck whispered. "We can totally cover for you."

_Sleeping over at Carl's_ was a fantasy he hadn't yet asked permission to entertain, either of his mom or of Carl himself. He was really hoping tonight might be different, but he wasn't going to lie to his mom in order to get what he wanted. "Thanks."

Finn watched them depart, hand-in-hand, and Kurt closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with his thoughts, the cock ring and... the other thing.

He stared at it. He was pretty sure what it was, too, but it appeared to be made of wood, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever heard of things like this being made of wood before. When he picked it up and turned it over again in his hands, it felt heavy and solid, and smooth enough to be glass. It was very slender, about four inches long, with a gentle diamond shape and a flanged base. The wood was dark, a rich brown color with a subtle grain, and a smooth, shiny surface. He had no idea where Carl had gotten it, or even what he should do with it, exactly, but...

He swallowed. He knew what he _wanted_ to do with it. But that wasn't something they'd done. Carl had gone so far as to say he wasn't going to do any of that with him, yet. _But maybe this wouldn't count, if I did it myself? _And Carl did tell him to _wear _the things he left for him.

He reached into his desk drawer and got out the half-full bottle of lube he'd taken from Puck's house, months ago. He was pretty sure he'd never used it himself, because when he was alone and wanting a finger in his ass, a little spit was all he'd ever desired for lubrication. But this... he might need a little more, for this. They'd never used a toy like this before, him and Puck and Kurt. He'd always figured, with three people's dicks and fingers, there were already enough appendages that they didn't need anything else.

Finn glanced at the clock, and decided he had enough time for a really quick shower before he put on his birthday gifts. Carl had never objected to him smelling like an ordinary sixteen-year-old, but he figured it was appropriate to be a little conservative about that for a special occasion. He carefully kept it as clinical and as brief as possible, but he went into the shower half-hard and came out a little more than that, enough that he knew he was going to have trouble putting on the cock ring if he didn't calm down. And the other thing, that wasn't going to calm him down any. In the end, he just stood around his room, damp, naked and shivering, until his erection began to subside.

The cock ring was first, around the base of his dick on top and underneath his balls, fastening the snap a little more tightly than was comfortable. It made him harder to put it on, but he knew from experience that it would keep him from coming before Carl said it was okay. He shivered, staring at the slender wooden toy, hoping desperately that he could count on the cock ring to do its job. Sliding something into his ass, knowing Carl had _told_ him to put it there - that was one of the most stimulating things he could think of doing.

With a determined breath, he snapped open the top on the bottle of lube, applying some to the toy and some to one finger. The lube felt cold and wet, nothing like what he was accustomed to, and he squirmed a little as he massaged it into the pucker of his ass. It wasn't particularly erotic.

Finn propped one leg up on his desk chair, awkwardly leaning in to get a good angle, and with firm pressure slid the toy inside. The base lodged against the clenching muscle, and he resisted the urge to press it in harder. That, he was guessing, would be Carl's job. Or would it? He still had another year before he would turn eighteen. Ever since Carl had told him he wasn't going to do anything to his ass until he was of age, he'd given up on the idea of persuading him. Was this Carl's way of giving in? The idea made him a little uncomfortable.

He moved slowly, getting used to the sensation of having something inside him while he bent to pick up his jeans and put on clean socks. He hadn't expected it to stay in on its own, but it didn't appear to be moving much, and he decided not to worry about it. The heavy sensation wasn't unpleasant. He was glad for the cock ring. Before he turned off the light, he paused in the doorway under the force of a wave of gratitude for Carl, taking care of him like this.

Puck looked up from the Sports Illustrated when Finn arrived at the foot of the stairs, eyeing his crotch with interest. "You got it on?"

"Yeah." It was more anxiety-provoking than erotic, the way Puck and Kurt were watching him, but he bore it as calmly as he could. "Both of them."

Kurt was clearly fascinated, but he hung back, moving to stand beside Puck. "Does it... how does it feel?"

"Okay? I mean, kind of... weird, but..." He paused, then added in a rush, "It's a turn-on. That he's making me do it."

Puck let out a little moan, which he quickly clipped, trying to retain his composure. "Yeah," he said hoarsely, and cracked his neck. "I get that."

The expression on Kurt's face as he watched Puck's reaction was hungry, but he also kept his focus as best as he could. "Come on. We should be on the road; it's almost 4:15."

Finn winced a little as he settled down into the seat behind the driver's side, which made Puck wince in sympathy. "Whatever he does with you, man, I hope it feels good."

He smiled, looking down at his lap. "So far, everything he's done has felt good. Even the things that weren't supposed to."

It was a brief drive across town to Carl's office. Kurt didn't get out of the Navigator as he pulled into the parking lot next door. Now his expression was thoughtful. "You really can say no, Finn, if you don't want to do something."

That startled him into a laugh. "Thank you, baby. I'll keep it in mind."

_No_ wasn't something he was accustomed to saying to Carl. Most of what he wanted to say wasn't anything even close to _no._ He'd had a lot of _yes_ and _more_ and _please_ on his lips over the past six weeks, spending time with Carl, and even if none of what had gone on had involved Carl being inside him, Finn was absolutely sure he wouldn't say no to that, in any form. He was thinking it was going to sound more like _fuck me, sir._

Angela wasn't sitting behind the desk when he walked through the double glass doors, but Finn would be willing to bet she was there somewhere, fulfilling her duties without being noticed. He glanced around the empty lobby, peering into the hallway, but it appeared to be deserted.

"Hello?" he called. There was no reply.

Finn knew the office well by now. Room six was upstairs, next to the miraculous greenery-filled bathroom with the enormous tub. It wasn't the most elaborate of rooms, containing a wide couch and an equally wide coffee table, along with a small table for props or equipment. It was lit from above by light tubes, illuminating the room during daylight hours even on cloudy days. The couch was equipped with sturdy hooks in all corners, and Finn knew from experience that they wouldn't give an inch.

Before going upstairs, however, Finn first went back to Carl's office to find Carl's personal cuffs, which he kept in the second drawer of his desk with his other tools. Finn still felt incredibly fortunate every time he touched those worn implements. Carl had spent the better part of the last fifteen years using those tools, honing his skill. He knew Carl never used them with clients, but even from the very beginning, before they'd become... what they were, Carl had allowed him access to them.

He'd never tried to buckle the cuffs on himself before, but after a couple tries, he was able to manage it, pulling the leather straps snug with his teeth and tucking them in. They weren't lined, but Finn liked the texture of the leather against his skin. Then he climbed the stairs - maybe a little more slowly than he usually did - to room six.

There were chains attached to the couch already, with snaphooks that made it easy to fasten himself face down on the table. He shed his clothes, kneeling awkwardly on top of the hard wooden surface, and hooked first one wrist and then the other to each corner. He didn't expect to wait long.

When he heard the door behind him open, he fought the urge to turn and look, maintaining his position on his knees, his legs spread just enough that he knew Carl would be able to see the toy protruding from his ass. The thought gave him an intense tingling sensation in his lower back. He heard Carl's footsteps pause, then resume, approaching him. The gentle warmth of Carl's hand on his back made him shudder.

"That's my good boy," he murmured, and bent to kiss him just behind his ear. It was the exact spot Kurt had chosen earlier, and Finn fought to keep his breathing even.

"Thank you, sir. For... for the presents."

The warm hand stroked down his spine, waking up his skin and making his cock throb inside the restrictive pressure of the leather strap. "This is just the beginning. But before we go any further, there's something I need to address."

He walked around to the head of the table, crouching down so his face was even with Finn's. Seeing him made the whole experience that much more real. Finn was pretty sure he'd never seen him in those leather pants before, though, and the way they fit left very little to the imagination. But Carl's expression was stern, and that tore Finn's attention away from his clothes and back to his face.

"My instructions," he said. "In my note. I said you were to go home immediately after school, after which you were not to have any contact with anyone."

"Yes, sir," Finn replied quickly, "and I - I didn't have a car, and thought I might be late, so Kurt took me back to the house..." He hung his head. "I'm sorry."

Carl's hand rested on his head. The weight was comforting. "I knew it would be challenging, without a ride, to fulfill all my requirements. You know there will be consequences for that."

"Um..." He squinted up at Carl. "Are you telling me you set me up to fail, just so you could -?"

"Hush, now," said Carl. He slid his hand down to grip Finn's neck. "You're already on your knees. This won't take long."

_Oh god oh,_ he thought, clenching his teeth in rhythm to the sudden pressure against his ass. That wasn't Carl's hand he felt, covering one butt cheek. The paddle was smooth and heavy and made a very appealing noise against his skin with each impact. Finn knew Carl wouldn't require him to be quiet up here on the second floor, where soundproofing protected each space from the others, but he was a little scared of where he might end up if he let himself go too quickly.

"You're a good boy, Finn," Carl said, efficiently working him over with short, sharp strokes. "But this was to be your present, not your own boys'. You may share it with them later, but I wanted to be the first one to show you how it will be used."

"I - I didn't let them. They saw it, but I didn't... um, let them use it for anything."

The paddle stopped. Carl set it on the table beside him. "And I can see you're wearing it." He brushed the outside of Finn's leg with the back of his hand. "How does the plug feel?"

_Plug,_ Finn thought, with a wave of dizzy arousal. _That's the name. I'm wearing a... a plug. _"It feels good, sir. I used a little lube to help get it in."

"That's good." He thought Carl might sound tense, too, like this whole conversation might be costing him a little bit. "I want to show you the rest of your present. Do you need a change of position? How are your knees?"

Finn crouched back, not really moving from his position but shifting into a resting pose, the toy inside pressing in different ways as his skin stretched. He watched Carl's expression change to surprise, then approval, and felt the flush of success. "Is this okay?"

"That's just right. Stay there."

Finn contemplated the framed photographs on the south wall of the room, flanked by paintings in muted tones, and made himself be as calm as possible while Carl moved around him, outside his field of vision. When he returned, he was carrying a large, polished wooden box, which he set on the table in front of Finn.

"This is for you," he said. His blue eyes flashed, from the polished lid of the box up to Finn's face. "You're going to take this home. This box, and the paddle, are yours, but they are only to be used at my direction as long as you are under my care."

"Yes, sir." Finn wished he had a free hand to touch it. The wood looked so smooth. "It's beautiful. Is that the same wood that the - um, the plug is made of?"

"Yes, and the paddle. Hickory is a traditional wood for paddles and switches of a punitive nature." He smiled at Finn. "It took me a good deal of my spare time to make these for you."

"You made this?" Finn was doubly impressed, and he hoped his expression reflected that. Carl's smile broadened.

"You're a good boy, Finn. You deserve beautiful things. And this is not a punitive gift, the paddle notwithstanding. I don't have to discipline you often. No, this training is of a different nature. Let me show you."

He lifted the lid on the box, which opened on a hinge to reveal a double-layered tray. Finn caught his breath at the contents.

"Oh," he said, hearing his voice come out small and dazed. "How many are there?"

"There are twenty-six in the set. The one you're wearing would go here, the very first and narrowest." Carl touched each plug in turn, and Finn could feel his skin flush hot and his ass contract around the plug inside him as he did. "And as you can see, they increase in diameter until they become... quite large."

The very last plug was almost distressingly wide. Finn swallowed his whimper. He could barely imagine being able to take something that large into his _mouth,_ much less his ass. He tried not to let his fear overwhelm him. "You think I'm going to put that inside me?"

"Eventually. This is a training set of plugs, Finn. You wear each one for a specified amount of time, typically for a short time every day over a two week period, but there might be some movement back and forth between various sizes if that is needed. I will teach you how to keep them clean and how to wear them comfortably. We'll start with brief periods and increase to longer. You will _not_ wear them overnight until I give you permission."

"Yes, sir." It was easy to say, but he couldn't keep his eyes off the last row of plugs. Each one was easily as large as an onion, with a wide flanged base. "They're... incredible. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, boy." His words were so gentle. "Just as with all things, it will take time. But I can assure you, by the time we get to the last row, you'll be able to take anything I choose to... give you."

Finn choked on the whine that lingered in his throat as he did the math. _A year. He wants me to do this for a year. A year, with him._ It was closer to a promise than anything Carl had offered him since they'd met. He felt the tears threatening, and he tipped his gaze up to connect with Carl's.

"That's right." Carl touched his face with one hand. "I know what you want. Rest assured, my boy, you can have that. In one year, we'll close the box, and you'll be ready. For that... and so much more."

Finn could only nod his head. He thought if he tried to talk now, he would start crying and not be able to stop, and he usually was a lot further gone before he'd allow himself to do anything like that. Carl seemed to sense this. He kissed Finn sweetly, then stood, running his hand along Finn's body, touching his skin from his face, along his shoulders and down to rest on his ass again.

"I think a birthday spanking is in order, my beautiful boy. What do you think about that, before we have dinner?"

Finn thought about Kurt's worried reminder earlier. _You can say no._ It just made him want to laugh, exactly how little he wanted to say no, here. He just felt monumentally relieved. "Yes, sir," he said gratefully. "That sounds perfect."

Carl moved the box to the floor beside the couch, then unhooked the cuffs from the table, sitting down as he assisted Finn out of his position. He pulled Finn toward him, smiling, and patted his thighs. "Right here, on my knee, boy."

Finn always felt a little ridiculous at this point, trying to fit his long frame over Carl's compactness. But he knew equally well that it never seemed ridiculous when he was the one taking _his_ boy over his knee. It had felt so right, so good, to do this with Blaine on Wednesday. Settling his body on the couch next to Carl, his knees dangling almost to the ground - there was nothing sexual about it. It was just exactly what he needed, just as he'd known Blaine had needed it, too.

Of course, there was no denying that feeling his bare skin against the supple leather of Carl's pants was totally hot. He hoped the cock ring would do its job, but already he could feel himself getting hard. When Carl's fingers nudged against the plug in his ass, he gave an involuntary thrust, whining a little.

"That's it, my boy," Carl hummed, sounding completely satisfied with himself. "You're doing everything right. Just relax and enjoy this."

It was amazing to think that he could actually do that: _relax._ The pain was not incidental, but the way Carl delivered each blow made it possible for him to kind of rock into each impact, taking it not defiantly, but graciously.

"So good," he gasped. Every time Carl's fingers tapped the plug, he could feel himself give in a little more, until he was completely loose and pliant in Carl's arms. Carl wasn't objecting in the least, holding him more securely with each moment, supporting him completely with his strong grip.

"Have you been counting, boy?"

"Uh -" Finn tried to worry about this, but found he was almost incapable of generating enough muscle tone to do anything at all. Carl laughed. "No? Was I supposed to?"

"It's traditional," he said, clearly amused. "I figured you'd let me know if you thought you were done."

"Not... not done," he said. The tension in his belly was coiling, increasing with each thrust, but he didn't think Carl's goal was to get him off. "I can count, if you want me to."

"Please. You're only seventeen once, after all."

Finn tried to marshal his thoughts well enough to focus on each smack. "One... two... three..." He winced, feeling the impact against his inner thigh. "Hurts more this way."

"Indeed. Consider, rather, that you're aware of each touch I give you."

"Four... f-five..." He could feel his head beginning to swim. "Uh... six... _god._ Seven..."

Carl paused, rubbing his ass in a circular pattern, and leaned over until he was right against Finn's cheek, close enough for Finn to feel the brush of his stubble against his cheek. "Raise up a little."

Finn did so immediately, and he cried out as Carl's hand slipped under his leg to cup his cock. He hadn't realized just how hard he was, but now the relief from pressure against Carl's thigh made it all that more intense. And he'd definitely underestimated the effect of the plug inside him. Every sensation was multiplied, each swat sending jolts of pleasure through his body, straight to his cock.

"I'm going to take this off you," Carl said sweetly. "And then I'm going to keep spanking you, until we get to seventeen."

_What happens then?_ he wanted to ask, but all he could do was nod frantically and say, "Yes, sir, thank you - oh_..." _The snap released, and he struggled for control.

"Back on my lap; that's it." Carl's hand pressed firmly against the center of his back, forcing him down again. Finn gripped Carl's thigh, holding on, as the swats resumed. "Keep going. You're doing fine."

"Eight... nine... ten..." Now his entire body was alive with the intention not to come. He held himself as still as he could, keeping his hips jammed firmly against Carl's leg. He could hold out for his boys; there was no reason he couldn't hold out for Carl, when it was requested of him. He _would._ "Eleven, twelve, thirteen, oh _fuck_, fourteen..."

"Pretty certain no new integers were added to the sequence, Finn." The next impact landed right on the plug, making him gasp and scrabble for a better hold. "Start back at thirteen."

"Thirteen," he said, not even questioning it, because he was _so close, so close, _he wasn't going to make it, but at this point all he could do was drive forward, "fourteen, fifteen sixteen seventeen _oh -"_

He could feel the muscles of his ass clenching around the plug as he spilled on Carl's leather-clad thigh. He couldn't believe how _good_ it felt, something so slim, barely more than a pinky finger inside him. _That's Carl,_ he thought, like a revelation. _That's Carl, inside me when I'm coming._

"You're so good," Carl murmured, beneath the sound of Finn's release, gripping his hips as Finn thrust and shuddered against his leg, "so good, my boy, my good, sweet boy..."

It seemed to go on for ages. Every time he'd thought the last tremor had hit, he'd get caught by another one. Finn crept one quivering arm around Carl's waist and the other on his arm, and he pulled himself up to a semi-sitting position and dropped his head against Carl's shoulder, panting.

"Sorry about the mess, sir," he said, the words thick as glue in his mouth. Carl chuckled, kissing him firmly.

"Leather cleans up just fine," he said. He reached down and -

"_Oh god,"_ Finn cried out, feeling the finger breach his hole, still pulsing.

"You need to break the seal before pulling it out," Carl said, as calm as anything, as though he hadn't just put a finger into Finn's ass for the first time ever. "Ready?"

"Yes..."It didn't hurt, removing something so small, but he felt the loss anyway, and when Carl turned to set the plug on the table, he turned back to Finn and took his face in his hands, kissing him thoroughly. When he was done, Finn's face was wet, but it didn't feel silly anymore.

Carl shifted him to sit on the couch beside him. He opened a little drawer in the table. Inside were a squirt bottle, a spray bottle, and a supply of soft wipes. "This is for cleaning the plugs, and the couch," he said, showing him how to wipe up the spots of come. "This one disinfects, but don't get too much on your skin or rub it in your eyes. When you're done with the disinfectant, make sure the lid is on tight. There's oil in the box, for applying to each plug after you use it, but you may wait and do it up to a few hours later without harming your tools. I'll show you how after we eat." He kissed him again, passing him a bottle of water. "How are you feeling?"

Finn concentrated on his state. "Thirsty," he said, fumbling with the cap a little. "And tired. And really, really happy."

Carl's pleased smile felt like a benediction. "I'm so glad to hear that. Maybe you'd like to lie down here for a moment while I clean up?"

"Isn't that my job?" Finn didn't object, however, and when Carl brought a thin, soft blanket out from under the table to drape over him, he felt his eyes closing.

"Not tonight, my boy. Tonight you're going to let me take care of you."

"Always," he said drowsily, and heard Carl's sigh before slipping into sleep.

* * *

><p>He only seemed to sleep for a few moments, but the light was different when he woke, and the table was set with a tray of snacks: sliced meat, the round crispy nut crackers Finn liked best, and little elongated rice balls with colorful toppings. He sat up with interest, stretching and letting the blanket fall away, and reached out to poke the rice with a curious finger. "What's this?"<p>

"Nigiri," Carl said. "That one's sake. The one on the end is maguro. You might like it dipped in the sauce."

Finn obligingly picked up one of the chunks of rice, dipped it in the dark sauce and put it in his mouth, chewing. "Good," he agreed. "Salty."

"I'm impressed." Carl sat beside him on the couch. "You didn't even hesitate."

He shrugged. "Puck makes weird stuff all the time, and I've got to assume it's going to taste good even if it looks like it won't. Did Angela make this?"

"No, Finn, I did." Carl shook his head, smiling with amusement. "What, do you think I'm totally incompetent? That I rely on my slave for everything?"

"Um - " Finn had no idea how to answer both without lying and without sounding completely rude, but Carl laughed and let him off the hook.

"Well, you wouldn't be wrong if you did." He helped himself to the orange nigiri. "Angela's been with me long enough, and I do rely on her more than I should. I've been trying to encourage her to take a position elsewhere, but she's declined every offer so far."

Finn thought about the conversation he'd had with Angela on Wednesday in Carl's kitchen. "Do you think she's afraid to leave?"

Carl snorted in derision. "Angela's not afraid of anything. I think she's afraid about what will happen to _me_ without her or Davis to watch after me. You should ask her her story some time. It's not an easy one, but I imagine she'd tell you. She likes you."

He smiled at Carl. "I like her, too."

"So. You said you had something to tell me?"

Finn paused. After what Carl had just done for him, he was so relaxed, he felt like he could tell Carl just about anything and it would be okay. "It was... well, Saturday, at the coffeehouse, you know Patrick wasn't there, so I left a note with Irene, and figured I wouldn't hear from him. But you remember Wednesday, when I called you to check and make sure you were okay? I was feeling really... out of my head. Like, I couldn't concentrate on anything. It wasn't like how I get when I need, um, a spanking. It was different. I hadn't felt anything like that in a long time."

Carl nodded as he ate. "What do you think it was?"

"Well, I got an email from Patrick. He got my note on Wednesday, and sent me an email. So I went down to the coffeehouse." He took another piece of nigiri. "I talked to Irene."

"Oh?" This seemed to interest Carl. "What did she say?"

"Nothing much, just that B- Patrick had asked for more information. Clarification, I guess, about... what was going on with him. With us."

"Is that right." Carl's eyes glittered. "You're sure you know?"

"I'm sure, now," he said fervently. "I found him in the men's room, using cocaine."

Carl frowned and put a hand on Finn's leg through the blanket. "Hmmm. I imagine it wasn't the first time he'd done that."

"No." He sighed, remembering how angry and scared he'd been, seeing Blaine with the razor blade. "My mom, she's really strict about drugs. I guess it's because she's a nurse, she used to see all kinds of awful stuff. Anyway... I told him he couldn't use it anymore." He glanced up at Carl, feeling the anxiety inside. "And then I spanked him. I mean, he asked me to do it, right there."

Carl's hand tightened a little on Finn's knee. His voice dropped to a murmur. "How was that?"

"It was... it was really good. It felt like exactly what he needed." Finn made a face. "Isn't that kind of crazy? I mean, I barely know him."

"He trusts you, Finn." Carl reached over, opening the space beside him against his body, and Finn moved in closer, resting on him. They both sighed in contentment. "Touch can be powerful, right? You can be sure he'll want it again from you before too long."

"Yeah. I told him, if he felt like using the cocaine again, he should call me."

Carl considered him. "Did you speak to your mother about it?"

Finn nodded. "I knew she'd understand. But Patrick, he's not..." He stopped. "Do you think I should tell her about the drugs?"

"Well, she's a medical professional, so she might have particular advice around Patrick's drug use, if you choose to tell her about that. And she's your mother, so she would only benefit from hearing about your life. I think if you were planning long trips to Westerville, you'd want to let her know. But that's up to you, Finn. I'm not going to interfere in things outside our relationship." Carl kissed his head. "I want you to know... just set that plate down for a minute." He took Finn's hand and faced him, looking solemnly into his eyes. "I want you to hear me say this."

"Okay." Finn felt a little nervous, not like he had as he beheld the tray of plugs, but like he was already unworthy of whatever Carl was going to say.

"You've been working hard to recover from the way you and Puck were treating one another, before Christmas. You've been listening to one another, and taking it slowly, and being persistent. And this, with Patrick, you've taken it on with such courage and thoughtfulness, considering each step of the way. I want you to know I'm very proud of you."

With each phrase, Finn could feel himself melting a little more into the couch. By the middle, he was strangling on emotion. "Sir," he said, trembling.

Carl squeezed his hand. "And I also want you to know, just because _we're_ in this particular relationship, you and me, does not imply you can't come to me and ask advice as a fellow Top. _You're_ in charge, with Patrick, and sometimes with Kurt, and now again with Puck."

"I think you're right," Finn agreed, willing his voice not to shake. "And... thank you. For all of this."

Whatever self-control he'd maintained throughout this little speech, Carl's kiss sent Finn over the edge into shuddering, useless moans. He fastened himself to Carl's shirt, but Carl was the one who held him up, smiling into his mouth.

"Your present's not quite complete," he murmured, trailing his lips down Finn's jawline, "but I wanted to check in with you to see how you were feeling. Tired?"

It was Friday night. None of the upstairs rooms had clocks, but Finn would guess by the quality of the light filtering in from above that it wasn't long past six. "Um, no? Sir." He bit back a squeak as Carl's teeth found his neck. "I was thinking..."

"Hungry, then? Dinner's yet to come, but Angela's at the house, waiting for my word. We can hold off until you're ready before putting the steak on to grill."

"I - dinner, yeah, any time, really. But I was wondering if, maybe..." He didn't exactly know how to ask. Carl stopped finally, leaning back to gaze expectantly into Finn's face.

"What is it, Finn?"

"Well... it's my birthday, and... and I don't have anything planned tomorrow, other than the drive down to Columbus, and I told B- Patrick that we might not even be there? Like, I didn't know what you had planned." He hesitated. "l was hoping that I could - that you might let me... stay here tonight."

Carl tilted his head, his face turning solemn. "You want to sleep here."

"Well..." Finn felt himself blush. "I know you said there were things we weren't going to do yet, and I'm not expecting... anything. I'd just really like to..."

"To what?" Carl prompted softly.

Finn shrugged, looking away. "To wake up with you. I don't know, it's stupid."

"And what do you suppose your mother might say about that idea?"

"Um... Puck said he'd cover for me?"

Carl's response was unexpected: he laughed, loud and full. It didn't last long enough for Finn to stiffen or pull away. "Really, Finn? I'm a _parent_ of a teenager. You suppose I'd let you get away with lying to Carole like that?"

"No," Finn admitted. "I was just hoping..." He let his voice trail away, staring at the empty plates on the table, and sighed. "No."

"Well, then." Carl reached into the pocket of his leather pants and handed Finn his cell phone. "Why don't you give her a call and ask her."

Finn stared at him. "What? Right now? You can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious, Finn. We're not going to establish patterns of deceit between you and your mother, not when things are going so well." He gestured expectantly. "Go on."

"I really don't think she -"

"I can make it an order, if that would help," Carl added silkily.

Finn stifled his sigh, but after the evening he'd just had, even this demand didn't feel impossible. And Carl was right, as usual. He typed in the number manually, but Carl's phone knew his mom's number. _Maybe she'll be busy,_ he thought hopefully, but he had no such luck.

"Hello?" His mother's voice sounded cautiously inquisitive. "Carl?"

"Uh - hi, mom. It's me." Finn glanced over at Carl, who nodded encouragingly. "Carl let me use his phone."

"Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, everything's fine. I was just hoping... um. Since it's my birthday, and I'm seventeen now, and..."

"Finn," she interrupted. "Are you seriously asking me for permission to... do something with Carl?"

"No!" He avoided Carl's eyes, but felt himself gravitate into the curve of his arm, letting Carl's body support him. "Well... maybe."

"Finn, what do you suppose it _means_ that you're turning seventeen?"

"Um... I can be tried as an adult in a court of law?"

Carl snorted over his mother's sigh. "I'm pretty certain that's still eighteen in Ohio," he whispered.

"You're already an adult, honey," his mom said. "In all the ways that matter to me. As long as you show me you're making good decisions for yourself, I'm not going to stand in your way. I'm heading over to Burt's house. Do you want me to let Kurt know you'll be staying with Carl tonight?"

"I'll text him," he said, feeling a little dizzy. "I don't think he'll be surprised, actually."

"No," she agreed. He could hear her smiling. "I'm not surprised, either. Good night, honey, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Finn handed the phone back to Carl, scrutinizing him with one eye. "Did you talk to her about this already?" he demanded.

"Maybe." Carl laughed, ducking away from Finn's accusatory shoulder-punch. "Hey, I'm the responsible one here! Of course I'm going to talk the people in charge of you before taking a step like this."

Finn tried once more, in vain, to pummel Carl before giving up and wrapping him in both his arms. It felt like his heart was beating fast enough for both of them. "I just can't believe I get to have this."

"If there's any day on which I can spoil my boy and not expect anyone to give me a hard time about it, it's his birthday," said Carl. "And it's not your birthday until tomorrow. I couldn't let you go home until then."

Finn walked beside him on the way down the stairs, carrying his hickory box and admiring the drawer that slid out from the bottom to hold the paddle. But he paused by the desk, realizing something. Whatever small things might be changing in his relationship with Carl, the public nature of it was absolutely not going to. "I don't have a ride to your house."

"Sure you do."

Finn looked over toward the door to see Puck propped against the wall, arms crossed, looking mighty smug. He jingled his keys and gave Finn a nod. Finn nodded back, feeling a little off-balance. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"You knew about this too?"

"Might have heard your mom talking to Burt about it." Puck smirked. "I got a couple hours before I'm babysitting at Brad's. Thought I could help. What's in the box?"

"All the evils of the world," Carl murmured, shrugging into his leather jacket. He took the box from Finn's hands while Finn put on his own coat, then handed it back to him, gesturing for them to precede him out the door. "I'll call Angela and let her know we're on our way. Puck, there's a place at the dinner table for you. See you at the house."

* * *

><p><em>If you must put me in a box, make sure it's a big box<br>__with lots of windows and a door to walk through  
><em>_and a nice high chimney _

_-Dan Bern_

* * *

><p><em>(Author's note: you've probably guessed by now that Kinky Way #17 is Anal Plugs. The joke stems from the fabulously silly John Stamos' Guide to Cuddling. You should watch this here: www dot youtube dot com watch?v=Ocj_sGKFOIA In the last ten seconds of the video, there's an outtake in which John says "snugglefist" instead of "snugglefest." The moment I heard that, the plotbunnies immediately started breeding for Finn. The name of my game became "What can I do to (realistically) get Finn to a point where he would beg to be fisted by Carl?" You can bet I'll be writing Finn's 18th birthday eventually. Thanks to flinchflower for not only showing me this video the first time, almost two years ago, but for helping me invent Carl's set of training plugs. -amy)_


	17. In Time of Need, disciplinary spanking

_(Author's note: This scene follows from chapter 34 in Fingers of Your Fire, after Tess and Puck have a phone conversation which leaves her convinced that Puck needs a spanking. She calls Carl Howell to handle it for her. Discipline only, no sex. This scene was cowritten with flinchflower. -amy)_

* * *

><p>Carl opened his menu, smiling across the table at Emma. She smiled back, her face pink. She was the very picture of subservience, but he thought he knew her well enough now to be able to tell the difference between resistance and submission. It would take a little time to be certain which one this was, but he was willing to be patient.<p>

He was about to offer her a glass of wine when his phone vibrated in a familiar pattern. Carl frowned, glancing down at it. _Tess._

"I'll be right back," he told the girl, noting the look of relief. She hadn't noticed his phone. Perhaps she thought he was being a gentleman and giving her space by excusing himself. He retreated to the quiet corner near the men's room and answered the call.

"Tess," he said urgently. "I'm not exactly -"

"Noah is in need, and you will do _exactly_ as I say, please," came her calm tones over the phone.

"I can't, Tess," he said. He took a deep breath, feeling proud of himself for standing up for himself, and repeated, "I can't. Emma and I are on a date, and -"

"Carl Jesse _Howell_."

"Tess?" He hated that his breath squeaked on her name.

"We had this conversation last week. I want you to ask yourself, right now: is she _really_ ready for what you are attempting to introduce?"

Carl felt a shock ring through his system, looking in his mind's eye at the image of Emma, her inadequate response, and the sudden certainty that Emma was afraid to submit. And yet, if he handled this right….

"Give me ten minutes, please, T- ma'am," he amended, putting his phone away as he returned swiftly to his table. He caught the waiter on the way and taking care of the check. He wasn't worried anymore; his brain had switched over to being entirely concerned about Emma and her needs.

Now he could see her fear clearly in her expression, her demeanor. He took his seat across from her, not reaching for her hand, but resting his own within touching distance. The fact that she did not immediately reach for him, that told him volumes. He gave her a gentle smile.

"Emma," he said, "You've had a salad and tea, and I'm pleased with that, that's excellent progress since our last meeting. We're not going to do any more today."

"Oh." She looked more relieved than worried. "I - okay."

"It's fine," he assured her. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'll take you home, and then you'll be free to relax on your own, in any of the ways we discussed. All right? Make it a good night."

He ushered her out to the Corvette, and within minutes she was smiling and waving farewell as she unlocked the door to her house. Then he picked up his phone, took a deep breath, and dialed.

"Okay," he said.

"You will get your sorry ass back to the apartment next to your office, _right now_," Tess barked, making him flinch. "And you, as a facet of the responsibility that led you to offer that apartment to young Noah, will go into that apartment, and you will spank that little boy. Do you understand me?"

Jesse gasped. "Tess, I - I was in the middle of-"

"Trust me, boy," came her calm voice, with which he was so familiar, "when I tell you that this need is a greater need."

"We _really_ don't have a good history," he tried, but that wasn't really true anymore either. He and Puck had resolved their differences months ago, and considering the way things had gone that weekend at Tessera, they'd established an entirely new set of parameters by which to interact.

"That boy is in active crisis," Tess was saying. "Do you understand me?"

That was crystal clear. An active crisis always took precedence over training - which, he had to admit to himself, had been underlying his intention behind having Emma out on a date.

"Yes, ma'am," he said promptly. "What action do you need?"

"Good boy," she praised.

He was shocked at the rush of pleasure that shot through him, even after remaining at Tessera with her for an extra day, and feeling as if he had everything he needed. It was a good thing he was idling at the light.

'Young master Noah needs a spanking," Tess said, and Jesse could hear the measured seriousness of her tone, that belied deeper and more dire issues. "He doesn't need to be tanned within an inch of his life, my dear. He needs to be spanked lightly, until he lets go - and that could take quite some time."

"Tess," Carl said heavily. It was asking a great deal, a spanking like that. Something like that, it built rapport and trust, and -

"I do not ask lightly," she went on. "He is in need, and I cannot be there quick enough. There is no one else, Jesse, darling. Will you do this?"

Carl choked at the emotion that this prompted. "I will. I promise. I'm… I'll be there in less than five minutes. How long has he been in the corner?"

"If you're five minutes away, he'll have been there just over a half hour when you arrive. An appropriate doubling of his age. It'll be fine. I'll remain on the line, should either of you need support."

"Tess," he said suddenly. "If he has needs beyond -"

"I will remain on the line," she said, with infinite patience. "If it comes to that, I'll support you in finding what he needs - likely Kurt, and if you're there to take him to Kurt if need be. Right now, you know what he needs."

Carl approached the door to Puck's apartment with a certain amount of trepidation, but he'd heard Tess' voice. She didn't make requests like this lightly. He wasn't Puck's Top, and neither was she - but apparently she felt enough ownership over him herself to employ Carl's services anyway. Regardless, Carl wasn't going to let her down.

He used his own key to let himself into the apartment, bypassing the intercom system. Puck would, hopefully, be following Tess' orders to stay in the corner.

He heard Tess' voice on speakerphone as he stepped inside, locking the door behind himself. _"No, Noah, stay put."_

"But there's someone -"

"_At my request, Noah."_

The silence went on. Carl called softly, "It's me, Puck. It's Carl. I'm just... I'm coming in now. Don't worry."

He heard Puck's exhalation, and as he rounded the corner into the sitting room, immediately noticed that Puck had shaved off his mohawk. _Wow,_ he thought, _I wonder who managed to get him to do that? _

The second thing he noticed was the way Puck was struggling to hold his position. The boy was standing in the corner, pants around his ankles, and Carl smiled at the familiarity of the pose, one of Tess' favorites.

He went straight to the boy, laying a hand on Puck's shoulder, pleased that he didn't jump or startle. "Let's get you out of those pants, so you don't trip. Then you're coming with me to the couch, and you're going to go straight over my knee. Do you understand?"

Puck had clearly already dropped into subspace, but he nodded, his breathing even.

"Good boy. Step out of those pants, and put them over the back of this chair. I'm going to step into the kitchen while you do that, and get a glass of water for you, and then we'll go and take care of this."

He was pleased to see that the boy obeyed quietly. He thought that Puck would need the water, and before the spanking, too. He opened the kitchen utensil drawer, impressed at the way it was well-ordered, the wooden and bamboo instruments nicely oiled and laid neatly out. Carl chose a pleasantly wide wooden spoon, the surface timeworn and smooth, and laid that on the coffee table, along with two glasses and a pitcher of water. He dampened a washcloth and laid it in a shallow bowl atop a few ice cubes, and set a towel on the tray as well.

Puck was standing bare and orderly in the corner, his shirt just brushing the tops of his buttocks, the jeans in place as Carl had asked. An excellent beginning, and Carl felt settled by the order, and the familiarity of the apartment, and the stillness of the boy. He was breathing marginally faster, a little anxious, but Carl was certain he would be able to assuage that anxiety. He set the tray down, the towel covering the bowl and the wooden spoon.

Carl set his hand hand on Puck's shoulder a second time, squeezing lightly. "Good boy. Now, turn with me, and we'll go to the couch. Do you understand?"

"Uh-huh," Puck mumbled.

Carl reached down, and swatted very lightly, cupping his hand so that the sound echoed. Puck made a wordless exclamation. "I beg your pardon?"

"Uh... yes?"

Carl smiled, and swatted the other cheek. "Take it a little further than that, please." He lowered his voice, keeping it gentle. "Tess is here, too."

"Yes, sir," Puck said, a shiver running through him.

Carl smoothed his hand down the boy's muscled back, feeling the hot worry in the tension of the muscles, and let his hand come to rest in the small of Puck's spine, guiding him. Once they reached the couch, he readied himself to sit.

"Look at me," he commanded, as he turned the boy toward him. Wide eyes glanced up at him, and Carl seated himself, taking a firm grip on Puck's arm. "Very good, Puck. I understand you need a spanking."

"Yeah - uh, yes - sir," Puck said, his voice subdued.

"Thank you. I appreciate the respect. Over my knee, now. You'll rest your arms on the couch. Very good," he praised, as the boy complied, and he could feel the dichotomy of relaxation, yet increasing tension as Puck got himself into what must now be a familiar position. He knew it well himself: comforting, but rife with anticipation of what was to come.

Carl ran his hand down Puck's back again, and then placed his palm on the muscled bottom over his knee. It was impossible not to admire it, but he kept it clinical, professional. There were some fresh lash marks on his back, not red, but present, perhaps from earlier that day. He was surprised to see only faint bruising remaining from the heavy workover they'd given him on the St. Andrew's cross on Saturday.

"You'll stay where I put you, Puck. If you struggle, I'll restrain you. Tell me your safeword, please."

Puck moved restlessly on his leg. "Red, I guess."

"_Red._ You're going to use that word if you need me to stop, for any reason, no matter how silly it might seem. That is not a promise that your spanking will end, if it is used, but we will stop until you're ready to continue. Tess is right here, Puck, okay? If you need either of us, for any reason, say my name or hers. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"A spanking for you, then," Carl said, almost wryly. He stiffened his wrist, landing the first pair of slaps. Puck remained tense throughout the first several minutes, but Carl hadn't expected anything less. He wished that he had something to say to the boy, but if Tess had needed Carl to know his concerns, she'd have shared them. At the very least, he was able to keep a clearer mind, to focus on the boy's reactions, and encourage the release that he could see the boy needed. It was enough that he was able to assist in resolving the crisis that Tess had identified, even hundreds of miles away on a cell connection.

He varied the tempo and and sharpness of the slaps, watching the tension in the boy's back and legs, increasing both until the boy let out an involuntary whimper, shifting forward on Carl's lap. Carl wrapped his free hand firmly around Puck's hip, keeping him safely in place, and lowered his target range, catching the underside of Puck's bottom, and beginning to pepper muscled thighs with spanks. The noises from the boy and the squirming increased, until he got a full yelp as he caught a particularly red spot on Puck's left buttock.

"That's right, my boy. There's no need to be silent, or still. You're all right, and you're going to feel a great deal better when we're through here." He sat back, holding him firmly. "But we're nowhere near that."

It was not really a question, nor did Carl expect an answer, but he did see the boy shake his head, _no,_ very slightly, and he smiled. He continued to spank, focusing in on making the swats sharper and faster, coming in groups and varied in placement. As he'd expected, Puck bucked and tried to move, and Carl he easily pinned the boy's legs with one of his own. It was then that he reached for the wooden spoon.

Puck gasped as the spoon fell, his head coming up in alarm, and the boy managed to turn just enough to look. Carl wouldn't normally tolerate movement like this, but it wouldn't be very much longer, and the boy would be entirely focused on the sensation of the spanking. The spoon had a comfortably thick handle to it, and it was easy to grip. Carl moved on to focusing his target repeatedly on a single spot, intensifying the crimson blotch until Puck cried out, and then moving on again to another choice target.

It wasn't as though he hadn't done this hundreds of times before, on dozens of men and women - and yet the contrast between Puck's response and the one he'd received from Emma in his own office on Tuesday was fresh in his mind. It was clear as day which of them was ready for such treatment. He knew Puck's limits fairly well by now, from watching him with Adam and Finn and Kurt, and from their own encounters together, but it would be careful work to move him fully from guilt to submission.

There were several areas of beautiful crimson splotches on Puck's backside from the repeated treatment with the spoon, his wrist working nicely to sharpen the swats without adding any force. As he began to ensure that he got into the spaces between the splotches, where the edges overlapped, Puck's movements and cries began to sound desperate. Carl shifted his voice to a more gentle, cajoling tone.

"That's just right, Puck. You let it go, Puck. Let all of that out. There's nothing wrong with it, Tess and I expect it." He watched as the whole bottom became an even, glowing red, and then he set the spoon aside. He ran his hand over Puck's heated bottom, appreciating the heat there, but he was not yet done. The boy was not in tears, and he needed to be.

Carl sighed, ignoring Puck's averted gaze, and reached down to Puck's hands, which had been clenched into fists. "Lay your hands flat on the couch, Puck. C'mon, that's it. And if you're tempted to reach back - don't do it, Puck. I'll swat your hands if you do that, understand?"

Puck nodded, apparently beyond words, which was good. Carl nodded to himself, and then out of nowhere landed one shocking smack on Puck's bottom. It went through the boy like electricity, stiffening him.

"There we are," he murmured. "Glad to have your attention. I'm going to keep going, Puck. We're not even close, are we."

He saw the boy's head turn slightly. Carl smiled gently, and landed another two of those smacks, gratified to see Puck's eyes go saucer-wide on the first. He watched the boy attempt to manage the electrifying sting by not breathing.

Carl's left hand was still firm on Puck's hip, holding him in place. He patted it gently as Puck shifted, while Carl slowly settled himself back further on the couch and pulled Puck along with himself.

He restrained the alarmed motion easily, landing a handful of much lighter swats, and continuing with the easy spanks as Puck's expression grew more and more panicked.

The boy bucked as he clipped that sore spot again, and Carl shook his head. "None of that now, Puck," he said, almost smiling. "We're going to take care of this. I don't need to stop to get the cuffs, do I?"

"I won't move," Puck promised desperately.

"Of course you won't," Carl said, without thinking. "You're a good boy. Good boys _need _spankings. It's just got to be done the right way." He landed another few swats, appreciative of Puck's stillness, interrupted only by his shivers of reaction. The boy was struggling to keep his hands flat as well - so far, additional swats had the boy nearly reaching back, but continuing to return the flat of his palm to the surface of the couch, each time.

However, it was perhaps time to curb that. "Puck, keep your palms on that couch," he said, delivering another pair of tremendous swats that got a thorough yell out of the boy.

"You don't know I'm good."

Carl was raising his hand for another swat - and he paused, his hand in midair. Later, he would not be certain of what stopped him, if it were a sound from Tess, a prompt from his own memory, or some motion of Puck's.

His hand fell, not on Puck's bottom, but very carefully on the small of the boy's back.

"You_ are_ a good boy. You are not bad, Puck. You are a good boy." Absolutely, after taking a spanking of that intensity - and Carl still wasn't certain as to whether or not they were finished.

"How do you _know?_"

"_Noah."_ Even Carl looked up at the sound of Tess' voice.

"But he doesn't know!" he shouted. "Nobody knows if I'm going to be good enough. Not to - to be a papa."

In his mind, in the incredulous silence that followed, Carl imagined himself exchanging a long, slow, look with Tess.

He leaned forward, stroking a hand down the soft strip of fuzz, where the peacocking mohawk had once lived, to get a hand around the back of Puck's neck, listening to the whimper.

"Puck. Kneel." He moved his hand to slip under the boy's hands - still flat on the couch - and lifted up just a little.

Whimpering, Puck slid to his knees. Carl rested his hand atop the boy's head for a long moment.

"Where is your collar?" he asked gently.

"Drawer. Bedroom." The tears were starting down Puck's face, and Carl had never felt more unsure in his life - but he knew what he needed to do.

"Stay." There was the hint of a nod from the boy, and Carl strode back, yanking the nightstand open, to snatch out a plain leather collar. _Dammit. _ It wasn't the same as the one he wore at Tessera, when he'd had Puck on the St. Andrew's cross. He would have to hope that it wasn't a special collar - as plain as it was, he doubted it. He returned to Puck's side.

"Hands," he commanded, and for just a moment, he saw a flash of Emma, kneeling before him, in the place that Puck occupied now. He calmly let the moment of Puck's panic pass, and the boy held out his hands, palm up, reddened eyes, still leaking tears, staring up at Carl.

"Good boy." He laid the leather in Puck's hands, going to one knee in front of the boy. "Show me what you need."

Puck shuddered, his whole body. Then those hands brought the collar up to his throat, head bowed, and stopped, canting his head slightly so that Carl could see that the collar was unbuckled.

"Good boy," he praised again. "Puck, I will buckle _your_ collar," he said, stressing the word. "Once your collar is buckled, I want you to take a deep breath, and look up at me." He didn't ask if the boy understood. He didn't need to.

The boy bowed his head a fraction more, and Carl reached to fasten the buckle on the plain black leather collar, letting his hand rest below the band of leather. Puck drew in a shaky breath and looked up, his eyes dilated and starry with tears.

"You are a good boy, Puck. You needed a spanking, didn't you." He watched the boy nod mutely. "And I know we're not done just yet." Carl looked at the boy, who shivered again, and noted the rustling sound that likely meant that Tess was trying to repress voicing an objection. He was determined that she would not need to worry.

"Yes, sir," Puck whispered.

"Very good, Puck. We are going to finish your spanking, Puck. How old are you?"

He sniffed. "Sixteen."

"Thank you. Over my knee, now," he ordered, and took the boy's hand, when he made an immediate motion forward. "Such a good boy," he praised easily, ignoring the flinch. "Now, do you know why I know you'll be a good papa, too?"

Those hazel eyes came up, startled, but the question came without hesitation. "No?"

"Because I'm a papa. Even when I can't be with my daughter, I'm still loving her, doing all I can for her. You're going to do the same for your daughter, Puck." He patted his back. "Sixteen swats. You're such a good boy, I'll use my hand."

He took his own sweet time, and at the final swat, Puck was sobbing out loud, finally, _finally_. Carl simply gathered him up, and made a swift move from the couch over to the rocker-recliner, and held the boy close.

It didn't take long, for the noise and storm to abate, for Carl to be left with a limp, punished boy in his arms. He watched Puck's face fondly for a long while, then let his hand creep back to unbuckle the collar. Puck didn't budge.

Carl felt a unique satisfaction steal over him. Tess still hadn't spoken, he could tell from the occasional audio crackle that she was still present. But he'd done exactly as he needed, he was certain.

Puck didn't move even when Carl spoke to him. Nor when Carl carefully stood up with Puck in his arms, walking back to the bedroom with the boy. The covers were a mess, but it made it simple to lay the boy down. He was utterly limp, didn't even roll to take his weight away from his bottom, and Carl draped a light sheet over him. The collar he dropped in the drawer where he'd found it.

There was an empty glass at the bedside, which looked remarkably clean, so Carl simply filled that up in the bathroom, with clean water, and left it, closing the bedroom door behind himself.

"Tess?"

"_Jesse,"_ came her voice over the speaker.

"I'm done here," he said. "I'll set the coffeemaker up, and the alarm clock is still set for school time."

"_And lock the door behind you."_

"And lock the door behind me," he said fondly, feeling the calm weight of his achievement holding him steady. "I'd be happier to speak with you at home than on the road."

"_I'd be happier to have you remain on the line until you _are_ home, Jesse."_

"I've no objections," he said saucily. "You're not too tired?"

"_You dreadful boy,"_ she said, but she was having trouble not laughing, he knew.

"Am I driving straight home, then?"

"_You'd best drive to your own home in Lima, or there will be terrible consequences."_

"I think I can do that," he agreed, feeling curiously light and thankful. "Finn will be coming by later, after he takes care of his own boy."

"_I wonder if you need a spanking, too,"_ she asked dryly, a rhetorical question if he'd ever heard one.

"Of course I do." He settled himself in the driver's seat of his Corvette and turned the key in the ignition. "But more importantly, I need to know if that met your expectations."

"_Jesse,"_ she said firmly, "_you can be certain you followed through admirably. You gave that young man exactly what he needed - and exactly what I told you to. That's more than I could ask of most people."_

Carl knew he had no right to feel as good as he did, not after what had happened with Emma, but he decided not to question it.


End file.
